


Broken Threads

by LittleLynn



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Ancient Greece, Angst, Be-warned, Brace yourselves, Fluff, M/M, Smut, this is a tsoa au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 20:11:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5018776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLynn/pseuds/LittleLynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ancient Greece in the age of heroes. Bard, a young prince is stripped of his rank and exiled to the court of King Oropher and his perfect, demigod son Thranduil. Uncaring for the reputation of the shamed prince, Thranduil befriends Bard and as they grow together their relationship blossoms into something much deeper. </p><p>But the sanctuary of peace could only last so long, and at the call to war, their unwillingness to abandon one another sets them down a path only fate could have woven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Helloooo, a new long fic begins ;) and another new one will be starting probably tomorrow as well ^^ (I am a machine)
> 
> Fair warning, I am using random tolkien characters in random places because having random Greeks in there would just be bizarre at this point

 

Bard did not remember much of his childhood, and he was fairly certain the memories he did think he held were just constructed from things he had been told. The few things he had been told by his scathing father. But still, they were not all entirely bad memories, he would not forget them all.

He had always been a disappointment. Even from early on.

Painfully average at everything he tried and below average at everything he was banned from ever trying again, he knew his father found him an embarrassment from the day he learned to identify the emotion. His father was a king, is a king, his kingdom was small but not the smallest, it was rich but not the richest, his father saw it as great and he saw his son as weak. A king with simple son and a simpler wife. Bard knew they were an embarrassment to him.  

Bard could fight, but he did not like killing, it left a sour taste in his mouth. He did not want to fight when it was unnecessary, he did not want to kill, it made him soft on the training grounds and clear he would never be a warrior. He had skill with a bow but that was a coward’s weapon. And besides, he didn’t like killing things.

Maybe he could have been fast and strong had he trained diligently, but a fathers mocking words every time he saw you so much as try does wonders to wear you down. Maybe it would have spurred other boys on, driven them to be better for their father, Bard it just wore him down, he believed his father’s words, he was useless, a disappointment, after all, no one had ever been around to tell him differently.

But still, he tried to make himself useful, he tried to harden himself to his father’s words, and he supposed that to a certain extent he was successful, but still it would always be hard to hear.

He knew why his father hated him, he looked like his mother. Bard’s mother had been simple, something kept from his father until after they were married, maybe he assumed Bard was as well. Then again, Bard’s father did not put stock in intelligence, only strength, speed, only if he made a good warrior.

Bard only had very few memories of his mother, some he knew he had constructed around the few things the servants had risked telling him about, some he was sure he had dreamed up himself and forgotten they were only dreams. It didn’t matter, he still cherished them as if he really remembered them.

His favourite was with his mother at the beach, she always liked it down there, had always found the waves soothing or something, who really knew what went on in her mind. Bard liked the water too, maybe because she did, he couldn’t swim though. Another of his failings. He should try to learn, but the water scared him. It seemed unforgiving as it crashed against the rocks. Still, a Greek that could not swim, he was pathetic. Yet he it was his favourite memory, they had sat in the sand and she had drawn nonsensical patterns in the sand. He guessed he had been about six.

He had been ten when she died as well. She had drowned. Bard didn’t like the water.

He should learn to swim but there was no one to teach him.

Other memories from his childhood survived, his most vivid and true was from when he was five. He knew this one was a real memory, he was sure of it.

It was his father’s turn to host the games and he was determined to make them the best, every king was always determined to make their games the best. The Greeks had always loved games, no doubt why there were so many of them, athletic champions were hailed in the same way as heroes oftentimes, although of a different creed and to a different degree. After all heroes could reach heights that normal men could never, no matter how fast they ran or well they wrestled. His father had no doubt hoped he might be a great athlete one day, but he was not fast enough to even enter the youngest contest.

Bard remembered sitting with his father, for no matter how his father wished it was not, his place was by his side at events like this and tradition must always be adhered to. They had been surrounded by the prizes to be awarded to the winners of the races and contests. Bard remembered his father had reluctantly allowed him to hold the wreath, he was under threat not to drop it, not to embarrass him, but Bard had always been more coordinated than his father had cared to notice, and he did not drop it.

He only remembered one of the races, in retrospect Bard supposed that it was not surprising that it was the only one he remembered, the only one he would never be able to forget. He would remember their every meeting, every interaction, every word, and this was the first. He would never forget it.

The youngest group always went first, Bard was too low to race with them, Bard would never be fast enough to race, or maybe he was but his father was convinced he would lose and decided to spare himself the embarrassment of having such a son. There was a boy amongst them, smaller and skinner than the other boys, younger than them too and with a whip of long silver hair tied out of his face with leather bands.

Even that young Bard remembers his face was already striking, and it would only grow more so in the years to come.

Bard looked at the boy and knew that he seemed as though he should lose, smaller and younger than the other, but also knowing beyond doubt that he would win. And he did. The race set off and he weaved through the other boys and flew out ahead of them, bare heels flashing as his swift feet sent him far ahead of the other boys and across the finish line far ahead of any other competitor.  Even as young as he was then he had smirked as he won.

He came over to collect his prize and without thinking and without speaking Bard had laid the wreath on his silvery hair, the boy smiled at him. The wreath was meant to be for the winner of the men’s races, but no one corrected his mistake, though his father punished him for it later. No one dared take the wreath from the silver haired boy once it had been given, they told him that that was Thranduil, son of king Oropher.

His mother was rumoured to be a goddess, the sea goddess Ulma, it had not been a happy union, though they said she loved her son beyond all. Everyone said he was destined for greatness, they had been right.

***

***

“Lord Finarfin’s daughter is finally ready for marriage.” His father told him, maybe Bard was stupid for not immediately realising why this was relevant to him, maybe his father was stupid for ever believing it could be relevant to him.  

He knew the name of course. Finarfin was the great king of Sparta, his daughter, the legendary Tauriel was fabled to be the most beautiful woman – girl? The line had always been unclear – in all of history. Bard could only imagine how many suitors she would receive, it was the thought of suitors that made him realise why his father mentioned it.

Legend said that she was not Finarfin’s daughter, but the child of mighty god Manwë and Finarfin’s beautiful wife. But Finarfin raised her as his own, she was more valuable than the most prized possessions in all of Greece it would seem anyway.

“You cannot mean…” Bard faltered, his father had always made sure he knew what a disappointment he was and now he expected him to play suitor to the most beautiful woman in all the lands.

“Why ever not. We are a respected family and we would do well to have her in our family. You will present yourself as a suitor.”

Bard was only nine, it was ridiculous, he often wondered if his father was not a little simple as well. But still, Bard knew better than to protest just as he knew there was no risk of her choosing himself as her husband.  

So they left the next day, travelled the long roads to Sparta laden with gifts and food, gifts his father was sure would make Tauriel see that the scrawny nine year old from a lesser kingdom was who she wished to marry. Bard was not always the only embarrassment to the family.

Finarfin was doing well from the suitors to his daughter already, tables laden high with gifts in an attempt to win her hand were already numerous. Bard was not the first suitor to arrive, his father blamed him for this, as if it was somehow his fault and they had not left as soon as his father decided.

Bard was only a child and he bored quickly, they would not be seeing Tauriel on the first day, there were still more suitors to arrive, they would have to wait, this offended my father. Bard was left to say in their rooms, less chance of him embarrassing his father if he was never seen but the other suitors. Bard didn’t mind, he was so much younger than the other men here, they would have nothing to say to Bard nor Bard to them.

Days past and Bard wiled the away throwing dice and ignoring his father’s increasingly angry ranting, though he was of course always polite and courteous to their host, no of course he did not mind waiting, yes he was having a pleasant time.

Finally a day arrived when Bard’s father had servants bath and groom him, he could not be trusted to do it himself, not to a suitable level anyway. Bard hated it but it meant it would be over soon. Bard was given a tunic he had never seen before and his father would probably deem too fine for his disappointing son when he failed to win Tauriel’s hand today. But no fine tunic was going to hide his scrawny frame or disguise the fact he was only nine. Bard knew the other suitors could not fathom why his father believed a nine year old a suitable suitor, let alone to someone such as Tauriel.

Bard was to present a gift to Finarfin, Bard’s father had given him a golden mixing bowl to do so, it was embossed with one of the great legends of the time, and hero’s doing great deeds. Bard could see where his father could not that not only his son but also the gift were inferior to that which every other suitor would present, he did not need to see the other suitors or their gifts to know this. Hopefully Finarfin and Tauriel would find it amusing, not insulting. Still Bard’s father could apparently see no reason why he would not win her hand.

Bard was able to hear the hall long before he saw it, the voices of hundreds of men all gathered in a small echoing space, the clinking of armour, clattering of goblet and boisterous voices of more men than Bard had ever seen gathered in one single space before in his life. But of course these were not men, they were _kings_.

And it would not be the last time Bard saw them gathered either, but he did not know that then.

They found space on one of the long benches and Bard did not need his father to say anything to know not to fidget.

Bard wondered if Oropher’s demigod son would be equal to this, they were the same in age but Bard knew he would look in place here in all the ways Bard looked out of it. He had only meant him once briefly, they had not even spoken, but Bard had never forgotten the silver haired boy.

The room only quietened when Tauriel entered, veiled but still mesmerising. They couldn’t see her long red hair but we knew it hid beneath the veil, most of her face was obscured, but it was still enough to leave the whole room enraptured.

Bard could never be sure if it was Tauriel or the reaction to her that piqued his curiosity, for he too watched curiously as she walked as if gliding despite knowing he did not wish to marry her. She moved elegantly and sat at the head of the room next to her father. Bard wondered if she was flatter or offended at being treated like a prize.

They were called up one by one, all were kings or kings-to-be, most could claim gods in their heritage and had songs written about their deeds already. Such a room of kings and heroes and warriors it felt to Bard like violence was around any corner as they competed for a single prize. Bard did not like violence and sat quiet and still by his father.

Each man was invited to the front, introduced himself, presented Finarfin with his gift and his suit, why he should be the one to win Tauriel. The room was filled with the richest and most famed names in all of Greece, in all honesty all but himself were worthy and they all knew it. The only wrong choice would be Bard himself. But they all knew that would never happen. All except Bard’s father.

The suitors offered legendary weapons that were mere family heirlooms to them, great riches, symbols of their peoples, beautifully and richly dyed clothes offered with deep compliments and near mythical belongings of old heroes. And Bard’s father would have him offer bowl.

Finarfin spoke, saying he was sorry to hear of the death of his father’s wife.

“My wife lives. It is my son who comes today as suitor to Tauriel.” He spoke and Bard watched as the room held in their laughter, Bard did not blame them because he did not belong.

“Your son is not yet a man.” Finarfin replied dismissively, Bard agreed.

“He will be soon. Until then I am enough so for us both.” His father boasted, maybe he expected people to laugh, but no one did.

“Indeed.” Finarfin answered, it was not quite a sneer. “Let the boy speak for himself then, if he is the suitor and not you.”

His father looked angry but there was nothing he could do, forced to step back and allow Bard to speak. He did not want to speak. He heard ‘do not disgrace me’ in the air as clearly as if his father had actually said it.

Bard cleared his throat nervously and Finarfin seemed to soften a little.

He knelt, he was not sure if he was meant to, none of the other had but they had been kings and Bard was not. He wondered if those in the room pitied him or were just amused by him, he knew they disliked his father.

“I offer the beautiful Tauriel gold from our stores, and though it is not as grand as other gifts you have been presented with and I am not as old the others here, what sort of a man would I be growing to be if I did not at least try to win your hand. I certainly think it would make me a fool.” Bard said he knew it was the right thing to say to the room as they smiled and cheered his flattering, almost charming words, just as he knew it was the exact wrong thing to say for his father as he fumed behind him.

“My daughter and I thank you for your gracious offer and kind words.” Finarfin answered him, his voice was not unkind, Bard was used to unkindness.

“I would make Tauriel queen of my palace immediately, for you know my wife is not fit for it. My wealth is great, my offering here a mere fraction of what I could offer your daughter and my deed speak for themself.” Bard heard his father speak, loud and brusque and unwelcome to every ear in the room, they did not like his father.

“I thought the suitor was your son. Or have you changed your mind?” A new voice spoke, Bard turned even though he was still kneeling, the man was both kempt and unkempt at the same time, his father looked angry again.

“Son of Eärendil I did not realise you were a part of this conversation.” His father bit back, he was being rude but looked as though he felt he had been mortally offended himself.

“I was not. I apologise. But you need not fear my intervention. I have no vested interested, I am merely an observer.” The man Bard now knew to be Elrond answered carefully.

It confused Bard, if he was not here for Tauriel then why was he here at all. Bard would only later discover that he had arranged a different marriage for himself with another relative of Finarfin’s house, the beautiful and clever Lady Celebrian. He genuinely loved her, that was rare for their time, usually marriage was merely a means to an ends and the ends was wealth.

“Although I admit my concern.” Elrond added, Finarfin looked torn between interested, amused and annoyed by him.

“Concern?”

“Every man here is worthy and knows it. I fear the aftermath of your decision. Many of the men here will not be easily put off.”

“You fear violence?” Finarfin clarified, and he did seem to share at least some of the same concerns.

“Unfortunately yes, although I do have a solution.”

“Let it be heard then.” Finarfin sighed, apparently finding Elrond’s carefully chosen words and wisdom annoying as well as helpful.

“Allow Tauriel to choose her champion herself.” Elrond suggested and the room immediately filled with murmuring. “But before she chooses, every man here must swear an oath. To respect her decision and defend her husband against all who would take her from him.”

“Very well.” Finarfin nodded after a pause, after all, there was hardly a wrong choice for Tauriel to make other than Bard, and that was hardly about to happen.

Bard did not remember much about swearing the oath, did not even think twice about swearing, none of them did.

“What is your choice then, fair Tauriel?” One of the suitors, king Celeborn, asked when the oath was done.

“Lord Glorfindel.” She spoke for the first time.

He was a great fighter and a brave man, it was not such a strange choice.

Bard was hauled out the hall by his father’s vice grip on his arm, another failure from his son. As he felt his grip beginning to bruise Bard wondered what it must feel like to be a son such as Thranduil, to never disappoint and be meant for great things. He supposed he would never know.

Bard forgot about that fateful oath for a long while.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This counts as using my Classic's degree right? (Should be writing a dissertation not a tsoa au) 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the start, comments and kudos mean the world <3
> 
> (Yes I did genderbend Ulmo, fight me. ;) )


	2. Chapter 2

 

Bard was an isolated child, he wasn’t allowed to mix with other children his own age. He was never sure if that was because his father didn’t want anyone to discover how inferior Bard was, or if it was because he didn’t think it was right for a prince to mix with commoners. Bard was fairly sure his father didn’t know which it was either.

But perhaps the reason he was kept apart did not matter, because the end result was the same, he was a lonely child. He was used to spending time by himself, at least when alone he was far from the taunts and scathing words of his father. He liked being outside as well, tucked away under a tree, the summers were hot but they were used to them, and with the dappled shade the tree allowed Bard did not mind the heat. He preferred it to the cold anyway.

Maybe Bard liked to be outside and alone because it felt as though that solitude was his choice at times like those, at least that is what he told himself. He wondered if it would be nice to share it with someone, but then again maybe it would be horrible to have to share it, he wouldn’t know, he’d never had the chance to find out.

Bard sat under the tree and threw the dice he had, an absentminded gift from his mother long ago on one of her better days when she recognised her son, Bard treasured them deeper than his father did all of the gold in his stores.

Bard would try to guess the number he would throw before it landed. It passed the time. He often forgot that he was supposed to be a prince, most people seemed to forget that he was supposed to be a prince, and those who did recall only offered him pity that he didn’t want. He was not proud, that was not why he didn’t want it, it was merely because even young Bard was not blind to the world. Whether he was treated like it or not he was a prince, he never went hungry he never had to fear for anything other than his father. There were people in the world who had it worse.

Then again, perhaps they didn’t pity his life but rather just how pathetic he had become, sitting alone outside hiding from people who would never even notice he was gone, throwing dice at the ground instead of learning to swing a sword and please his father.

He heard footsteps coming towards him and tensed, no one was supposed to be able to find him out here, so long as he was back for dinner no one was supposed to miss him. Why would someone come search him out? It then occurred to Bard that whoever it was they were probably not searching him out, rather had stumbled upon him purely by chance.

Bard wondered if maybe whoever it was would want to sit with him, but when the boy in question came into view Bard rather hoped the tree would swallow him up instead. Bard did not know his name, his real one anyway, he just knew that he liked everyone to call him the master, Bard was sure it was supposed to have something to do with his prowess in something or another. People often made jokes that Bard would overhear that he his prowess was only in misplaced arrogance.

He was the son of a nobleman in Bard’s father’s court, he was a few years older than Bard, unkempt and slovenly and unskilled in war, yet he was not considered an embarrassment by his father. The boy was vile, and he had proven in the past before that he knew he could mistreat Bard with no consequence from the king. He loved to prove this whenever he could, Bard had stopped pushing back physically long ago, he failed to see the point, the master was bigger and older than he. He had tried fighting back with words he was too dim to understand, but he had known he was being mocked and Bard had only ended up with more dirt in his face.  

“What do you have there.” He sneered at Bard, Bard reflexively closed his fist around the die, he wished there was somewhere safer than his hand to put them.

“Nothing.” Bard lied, the other boy’s sneer deepened.

“Give them to me.” He demanded, Bard was supposed to be a prince.

“No.” Bard spat back vehemently, all it seemed to do was spur the master on, riled by Bard’s rare show of resistance, no doubt sensing he could cause real damage this time.

He didn’t want the master’s greasy, dirty, clumsy hands on the only thing he knew his mother had given him. He knew the master would not give them back as well.

“I want them.”

“You can’t have them.” Bard was proud that his voice did not waver, perhaps he was not so weak when he had something worth defending.

“Let me have them.” He demanded again, stepping forwards and towering over Bard, Bard scrambled back and up off the ground.

He still towered over Bard, Bard had not had his growth spurt yet, he imagined everyone would be surprised if he ever had one at all.

The other boy stepped forward and Bard pushed him back with force that surprised them both. Bard was not as weak as everyone thought, but he was small and supposedly simple, the master would not back down. Not from his favourite victim. He came forwards almost menacingly and Bard made the mistake of stepping back, the master regained his sneer.

“Coward.”

“I am not a coward.” Bard growled, that was the worst thing to be called, the worst thing to be in their world.

“You father believes you to be. We all know you are.” He picked his words, Bard hadn’t known he was cleaver enough to do that, just vicious enough it seems.

Bard did not doubt his father thought that, but it did not stop the words from slicing through him and hitting every nerve. He must have seen the flash of vulnerability in Bard’s eyes because he grabbed Bard’s wrist in his sweaty hand and yanked it towards him.

But Bard was thought to be a coward and the master expected him to pull away. Instead Bard pushed forwards, catching him off guard and shoving him back with all his might, it was only enough to make the other boy let go of him and stumble backwards a few paces.

Greece was a land of grass and wheat, the ground while hard should not hurt to fall upon. But theirs was also a land of rocks.

Bard’s shove was enough to have the master trip backwards on one and his head to land with a dull thump on another.

Bard would never be able to get the sight of his eyes bulging in surprise and pain out of his head, nor the way they looked when they glazed, nor the way the ground around his head became dyed red, nor the way his chest stopped rising.

Bard’s chest clamped in horror as he realised what he had done, he had never witnessed a human die before, and now he had it was by his own hand. It was only an accident, yet Bard’s hands seemed stained to his eyes. He had been trying to protect a pair of dice. Bard felt the bile rising in his throat and fled the scene, only getting a little way before emptying his stomach from the revulsion he felt at himself, at what he had done, at death.

Bard ran and he hid because he was a coward after all, he was ten, he knew the consequence of what he had done.

The boy had been a lords son, a noble man. Kings and princes could kill slaves and hurt servants and burn fields to their heart’s content, for a prince they may even look the other way if you raped their daughters. But you did not touch another man’s sons.

It was the next day when they finally found him, cowering and hiding in a grove. Sometimes he felt he could still feel his father’s grip on his arm, the bruises had lasted a long while. He tried to explain what had happened, how it had been an accident, how the boy had been taunting him and trying to steal his dice. Bard’s father flung the dice into the sea. Bard knew he would never see them again.

The nobles were demanding justice. Bard knew his father would not risk the wrath and discontent of his nobles over such a disappointment as him, not when more sons could be so easily had.

Death or exile, that was the choice. Death was preferable than being left nameless, fatherless, stationless and without inheritance. Bard’s father chose exile, he would be sent to another man’s court to be raised, it would cost Bard’s father Bard’s weight in gold but Bard was small and slight still and it would be cheaper than the lavish funerals deaths demanded.

He did not get to say goodbye to his mother, she drowned only a few weeks after, Bard did not find out for almost a year. He was an orphan now, exiled and shamed, he did not have a mother anymore and he had never had a father anyway.

That was how Bard became an orphan, exiled to King Oropher’s court.

***

***

His father had barely fed him in the couple of weeks before he left for King Oropher’s court, an attempt to pay even less for the fostering of his shamed so, ex-son. They all knew, Oropher knew, he did not comment more than a gentle frown on Bard’s clearly underfed state though.

“Remind me of your name.” Oropher asked, his voice surprisingly gentle, Bard had not expected gentleness, far more accustomed to scorn and ridicule, and maybe hatred, he was a murderer after all.

“Bard.” Bard answered, he knew he was not the son of his father anymore, so he did not say the rest, he supposed it was not the rest anymore.

“Do you wish to keep it?” Oropher asked, it was a strange question, it must have shown on his face. “Some boys prefer to leave everything of their past behind them.” Oropher fostered lots of exiled and shamed boys, he was renowned for it.

“I would like to keep Bard.” Bard said hesitantly after a long pause, his mother had named him.

“Very well. You will sleep in the dormitory with the other boys, simply follow them when they leave for meals and training and you will not get lost. And do not fear Bard, it does not matter who you were or what you did.” Oropher said before dismissing him with a wave of his hand, Bard bowed awkwardly and followed a servant out.

Oropher was kind, but he was not without his motives, he fostered shamed and exiled boys, reared them in his court, they would spend most of their days learning the sword and shield. They would make him a fine personal army one day.

The servant was supposed to be showing him to the dormitory, but he was called away and left Bard with instructions for how to reach it himself, he feared he would somehow mess it up, he followed the long stone corridors fearing he had gone wrong even though he knew he had not.

That was when he saw him for the second time in his life.

He had grown in body and fame since Bard had seen him five years ago, but he recognised him still. The cascading silky silver hair that belonged on a god gave him away, as did his fine features, they were still under the cusp of puberty and their faces had not matured, but Thranduil’s eyes had always been a piercing icy blue that Bard could swear was cutting into his heart and making a place for him.

“You are new.” Bard saw Thranduil’s lips moving but it took him a moment to realise what he had said, that he was being addressed, to process the words. “Are you lost?”

“A little.” Bard admitted, averting his gaze to the floor immediately, he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to look.

“Are you looking for the dormitory?” He asked, Bard nodded. There was a silence, Bard somehow sensed Thranduil was waiting for him to speak or at least to look, when he did those eyes were fixed upon him. “You are awfully skinny.”

“My father decided I was not worth my original weight in gold.” Bard mumbled, Thranduil frowned.

“Come. We shall find you some food.” Thranduil instructed, turning on his heel and Bard scrambled to follow.

“I am just supposed to go to the dormitory, the servant said…” Bard trailed off when Thranduil fixed him with a bemused look.

“I am the prince. Do you not think I overrule the words of a servant?”

Thranduil was what a son, a prince, should be. Bard had forgotten what that meant.

“Sorry.”

“Do not apologise.” Thranduil waved him off, striding off in a way a ten year old should not be able to do.

Thranduil led him to the kitchens and called someone to bring them some bread and cheese, Bard’s stomach growled on the sight, it embarrassed him, Thranduil pretended he hadn’t heard.

He expected Thranduil to point him to the dormitory and leave him, but instead he was leading him away. Eventually they came to a large room and Thranduil opened the door, revealing an opulent and spacious room filled with riches and diversions, all the things a prince should have and know.

Thranduil sat himself on a chaise longue and set the plate of food beside himself.

“…Sit.” He said when he realised Bard must be waiting for an invitation. “Eat.” Again when he did not start on the food despite his clear hunger.

Bard tucked into the bread, he got the feeling Thranduil was not hungry, he did not touch the food. He must’ve already eaten, Bard sensed he could tell just how much Bard needed something to eat and left it all for him.

Thranduil did not speak as he ate, but picked up a lyre and started to pluck at it, it made Bard’s ears prick up, he had not been permitted more than one lesson, his father convinced he would only fail at that as well when he had not shown immediate mastery after one lesson. Thranduil was only playing it absently, most of his focus seemed to be on Bard, a focus with an intensity that shouldn’t have been possible at their age and made it clear he had a divine mother. Or maybe that was just the way Bard saw him, ethereal, intense, perfect.

Bard’s own focus was on Thranduil’s hands, unable to tear them away from the way Thranduil played the instrument, he made it sing through the air and fill the room with delicate music without even trying. It even distracted him from his food despite his hunger.

“Do you play?” Thranduil asked, jarring Bard out of his thoughts, Bard levelled his eyes with Thranduil, somehow he was not intimidated. He was ashamed though.

“No.”

“I thought you were a prince.” Thranduil stated more than asked, all princes learnt the instrument to some extent.

“Not anymore.” Bard answered, Thranduil clearly wanted to push and he was a prince, and demigod, unused to not being given the answers he wanted, so he pushed.

“Do you draw?” Bard shook his head. “Skilled with a sword?” Another shake. “A good thinker?” Bard’s eyes were trained on the floor as he shook his head again. “Can you sing?” A final shake.

“My father would not let me learn.” Bard surprised himself by answering. “He thought I would fail and only embarrass him further.”

“Would you like to learn?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps the chance will present itself.” Thranduil mused, Bard could not tell what he was thinking. “Eat.” He ordered again, it did not feel like the orders Bard was used to getting, abrasive and oppressive things, this was almost coaxing.

Bard ate and Thranduil played until the plate was cleared and then Thranduil rose and beckoned Bard to follow him, Bard doing his best to memorise the layout of the halls.

“This is the dormitory you will be staying in.” Thranduil indicated the door.

“Thank you for showing me too it. And for the food.” Bard said, finding his voice and sounding so much younger than Thranduil despite them being the same in age.

“What is your name?” Thranduil asked after a pause.

“Bard.”

“Bard.” Thranduil repeated, it was a simple name and did not require practicing, it felt more like Thranduil was tasting it and seeing how it felt, it was the first time he said Bard’s name. “I am Thranduil.”

“I know.” Slipped past Bard’s lips, it was not embarrassing, everyone knew Thranduil’s name, but Bard’s cheeks heated anyway.

Thranduil smiled an indecipherable smile, apparently pleased by Bard’s response, fame was important to them, Bard supposed, a kind of immortality that could keep you alive long after you were dead. Thranduil would chase it, the rumoured prophecy about him stated that Thranduil would achieve more of it than any other mortal before him, it was his destiny.

“Bard.”  Thranduil said again, Bard wasn’t sure why, and then he walked away, leaving Bard standing by the closed door.

Thranduil was long out of sight by the time Bard took his eyes away from the corridor and turned back to the door, finding his meek courage and finally venturing inside the room. It was filled with boys some looking only five, others into their late teens.

They watched as Bard entered, it was frightening to have so many eyes on him, they studied him for a few moments before gradually turning back to what they had been doing.

Bard was no one important after all.

He moved through the room until he found what he hoped was an empty pallet for sleeping. He didn’t have any possession with him, no way to make the space his own, maybe he would acquire some things to call his own as time passed, but he did not see how, he would guess that the things the other boys had had come with them from parents who would miss them.

No one spoke to him, Bard did not have enough experience with other boys to know how to approach them. He spent his first evening sat alone on his pallet. No one paid him any notice, at least that was what he knew, Bard knew how to be ignored.

Bard fought off sleep for as long as he could, but he was tired and it inevitably claimed him. He used to love sleeping, it had been a solace from his father, now all he saw in the darkness was the face of the boy he had pushed and the stain of blood on the ground and on his hands.

Sleep chocked him, he forced himself not to scream when he jarred from sleep in the middle of the night, his dreams were only nightmares replaying the way the master’s eyes had bulged and glazed. Bard could feel the bile in his stomach, he was shaking, he did not like to sleep anymore.

No one noticed him, sitting up in bed sweating and scared and shivering.

He made himself face sleep again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies this took longer than expected, I was not in a good place to write last week and prioritised my two older fics - but I am good again now and you can expect weekly updates <3
> 
> Comments and kudos are cherished, unlike Bard, hopefully that will change now, poor baby :P


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live! Super sorry for the long wait, but ya know, uni deadlines and life breakdowns make it hard to write :') but hopefully should get back to some regularity now <3

 

Bard did not see much of Thranduil. Thranduil’s time was separate to the rest of them, after all, he was a prince and his days were filled with princely things. Bard wondered what his life was like, if it was happy, if he ever wished for more, if he ever wished for less.

The daily routine for Bard and the other boys was simple, monotonous, repetitive. Bard liked it, he found it kept him grounded. He didn’t speak to the other boys and they did not speak to him, though he heard them whispering sometimes. He followed them to learn the day, they would all move together to breakfast as the sun rose, then to the field for morning drills with the sword and shield, then they would go inside for their noontime meal after which they had a short time for themselves before they returned to training, Bard spent that time alone with his thoughts; the other boys did not invite him to join their games and he did not ask to join.

Afternoon training only stopped when their final meal was called, and that was the only time in the day Bard saw Thranduil. The prince took his supper meal with them, always sat on a table surrounded with other boys, all hankering to get his attention, to maybe be able to call the legendary Thranduil a friend. Bard watched him from his own table on the outskirts, the only other boys sharing his table sat on the other end of it through necessity for seats. But Bard did not mind the time alone, time to be able to watch Thranduil and not have to worry that he would be seen doing so as Thranduil’s attention was monopolised by the other boys.

There was something about the prince that left Bard captive by him, without him needing to even try. Bard supposed it was his parentage, he was the son of a goddess after all. The other boys seemed to miss something Bard saw when he looked, because if they saw it too they would look at him with the same awe Bard did. That was not to say that they did not admire him, of course they did, but they idolised him because they wished to be him, but Bard would know he was blessed just for the opportunity to stand beside him. Just as he knew he would never be good enough to do so, so he stayed on his table in the corner, eating his food and stealing glances at the enchanting prince.

He enjoyed watching, watching Thranduil have fun, the sound of his laugh seemed to warm Bard’s very bones. The grace an elegance in his limbs when he sat had nothing of the awkwardness of the other boys and especially not Bard, it was effortless to Thranduil, appearing so godlike. Bard loved to watch him, so although he sat alone in the corner, dinner times became his favourite part of the day.

He always seemed to find his eyes catching on Thranduil’s hair, Bard thought that while all of him was ethereal and beautiful, it was his hair that really gave him away as the son of a goddess. It shimmered in the light and flowed around him in a colour of silver gold that should not have been possible, it never knotted and always fell impossibly straight. It looked soft too, Bard would bet it was like the finest silk to touch.

He had been in his new life for a number of weeks before Thranduil finally caught him looking. It was inevitable, Bard supposed, with how much of his time he spent watching the prince. Thranduil looked away from where some of the other boys were laughing and vying for his attention and caught Bard looking at him. Bard quickly forced his eyes back to his dinner, looking away and blushing furiously at his food. He promised himself to become more stealthy about how he looked in the future.

But no matter how stealthy Bard tried to be with what felt like stolen glances, every day Thranduil caught him doing so and forced their eyes to meet and sometimes Bard would managed a full second of eye contact before he found himself shying away, either form the intensity or from his inherent feelings of inadequacy he did not know. But those moment when their eyes caught for a brief moment became the moments he lived for in the day, the moment he smiled, he moment he seemed to come back to life for a split second before sinking back into the numbness he had felt since is removal from a place that had never even felt like home anyway.  

With the daily training Bard learnt the sword and shield and spear, but he was still far less skilled than the other boys. Now that he was training properly, something his father had never done, he could tell he had a talent with a sword and the idea of it terrified him, he never wished to find himself in a position where he had to take a life. So he hung back and did not practice properly, he stunted his own improvement because the thought of taking a life left him dizzy and sick. His thoughts would often flash back to the boy he had killed and Bard knew he would rather chose not to even fight back against an opponent, he would not raise a sword to anyone outside training, he would not be the cause of another death.

He couldn’t think of a single thing that could motivate him to take up arms against another man and kill again.  

Even taking up a sword simply to train made bile rise up in his throat, their training master disliked him, he called him many things Bard father once had, but still he could not bring himself to raise a sword and try to strike another.

Maybe if he had something or someone to defend. But he didn’t.

It was the fifth week of his new life when Bard came into the mess where they all ate dinner and faltered in his steps when he found his usual table in the corner occupied. Thranduil was sat at it, surrounded by the boys that had flocked over to him and his new choice of table. They probably hadn’t even realised that was where Bard usually sat, there was no reason for any of them to have noticed him after all.

But there was a seat left conspicuously empty at the end of the table, Bard could not say why when there were other boys in the room clearly itching to take it, but something held them off. Bard was not sure what boldness overtook him but he went to his usual table and took up the final seat and then he held his breath, as if he expected to be thrown out of it for whatever reason it had not been filled. But no one did, and he was left alone, and while he did not like being so close to the other boys with all their raucous noise, he did enjoy being closer to Thranduil, being able to hear the stories the prince told more clearly, letting his voice wrap around him.

The boy started cheering at Thranduil loudly and Bard couldn’t help but look up from his own food, to see what was happening, Thranduil’s seemed almost like he might be waiting for Bard to look, but that did not make sense so Bard supposed his imagination was running away from him. Thranduil started to juggle with the figs they had for dinner, first three then four then five, hands swishing through the air seamlessly as he tossed and caught the fruit without so much as bruising the skins.

The other boys hollered and cheered and Bard found his mouth quirking at the corners even as he stayed seated while everyone else had stood to better crowd around their prince.

Bard found his eyes caught once more by icy blues.

“Catch.” Thranduil said to him and Bard would never have forgiven himself if he had dropped the fruit that was thrown to him.

But for once Bard succeeded in something, and he caught the fig as it was thrown to him, managing to have it land in the cup of his hands.

Thranduil then placed the other four on the table one by one with a kind of showmanship that meant he was definitely showing off, but none of them cared, they were still only boys, but Thranduil was already their hero, already mighty as the prophecies said he would one day become, simply by juggling fruit for them.

Thranduil kept the final fig and took a bite and something spurred to life in Bard and he found himself taking a bite from the fig thrown to him as well, it made Thranduil smile at him and something lit up inside Bard.   

Thranduil looked away from him and back to the fawning attentions of the boys around him, all clamouring for him to do it again, to juggle six this time to do it with bowls. Thranduil just smirked and turned to leave the hall, he never entertained them with the same thing more than once, and it always left the memory more powerful than one repeated. Bard doubted that was even a deliberate cunning from him, he thought it much more likely that Thranduil merely bored of things he had done before.

He wondered if Thranduil would look at him again, but he did not, simply exiting the room with his elegant stride that juxtaposed his young age.

***

***

“You should not be here.” Bard jumped at the smooth voice that wrapped around him like velvet, he looked up and there was Thranduil looking down at him, a frown on his face, Bard did not like being the cause of his frown.

He was sat tucked away in a storeroom, his knees tucked up against his chin, his arms wrapped around himself, as if he was cold, even though the building and summer was always warm.

Bard knew he should not be there and guilt churned in his gut. It was not that he should not be there ever, it was that at this particular moment he was supposed to be in morning drills. Just like he had supposed to be yesterday morning, and the day before. He had started to spend many mornings and afternoons half hidden in the corner of the storeroom.

He wished he had something to say but Thranduil’s presence seemed to have stolen the words from his mouth.

“I have been looking for you.” Thranduil said simply.

“Why?” Bard asked before he could stop himself, filled with confusion.

“You have not been going to morning drills this week. Sometimes you miss afternoon training as well.” Thranduil stated and Bard looked down in shame, there really was no point in denying it, he should be there right now. “Why?” Thranduil then demanded, though his voice was not unkind.

“I do not like fighting.” Bard admitted.

“Why not?” Thranduil asked, his face scrunched up slightly with confusion, fighting was the way of the Greeks after all, every man fought, otherwise he was a coward. Bard was grateful Thranduil did not call him so.

“I do not wish to ever take a life.” Bard answered, though in honesty it would be _another_ life, he had already taken one after all, he found himself feeling ill again. He wondered if Thranduil knew why he was there, that he had killed another boy, he hoped he did so he would never have to explain and he hoped he did not so that Bard might hide his shame from Thranduil forever.

“Come.” Thranduil instructed after a pause and Bard sighed, accepting that he was to be taken back to the training ground and warned never to hide from it again.

“Is your father going to punish me?” Bard couldn’t help but ask.

“No. I convinced him to let me speak with you instead.”

“Oh.” Bard said, unable to say anything else, unable to think of anything but the way Thranduil moved as easily as flowing water.

They weaved through the palace and it took Bard too long to realise they were not headed towards the training ground for the fostered boys.

“Where are we going?”

“You did not think I was going to leave you alone in the storeroom did you?”

“No I thought you would make me go back to morning drills.” Bard admitted, Thranduil had an amused smile on his lips.

“No, I think you can come with me for the morning.” Thranduil said and Bard was too stunned to do anything other than follow.

He ended up sat with Thranduil through his lyre lesson, and maybe a different boy would be bored, but Bard was mesmerised in the way Thranduil’s hands coaxed music out of the instrument. He was asked by Thranduil if he would like to try, much to his teacher’s annoyance – Bard’s mere presence seemed to be enough to irk, but Bard did not care, because Thranduil wanted him to be there, so he would be there. Bard decline Thranduil’s offer, he did not know how to play a single note and was happy just listening to Thranduil playing.

Bard expected to be made to return to the other boys when it was time for the noon meal, but when the food was delivered to Thranduil’s room the prince instructed the servant to bring a second helping and the servant did not even hesitate at the instruction from her lord.

“I should not.” Bard said awkwardly as a rich plate of food was given to him by Thranduil, usually their breakfast and noon meals were bland, though the evening meal was generous.

“You should not have been hiding from training in a store room either.” Thranduil pointed out, a dark eyebrow raised and a quirk on his lips, Bard felt himself flush red with some mix of shame and embarrassment.

“That was different.” Bard mumbled, which only seemed to amuse Thranduil further.

“How so?”

“I was not taking up anyone’s time or eating food I should not.”

“I find I like you taking up my time. You are fun to talk with.” Thranduil said and Bard looked at him in surprise, he had never been called fun before. “Besides, I say you should eat it and I am the prince.” Thranduil added and it made Bard smile and take a bite of food from his plate, which in turn made Thranduil smile at Bard’s increased ease.

“Thank you my lord.” Bard said as he finished his plate and Thranduil scoffed.

“Thranduil. Not my lord.” Thranduil insisted and Bard found himself blushing, though he was not sure it was solely from embarrassment.

After eating Bard did have to go back to join the other boys. He told none of them where he had been and none of them cared to know anyway. They would not have believed him even if he had said.

Bard participated in the afternoon’s training and while he still disappointed and angered their training master with his reluctance with a sword, he was getting much better at riding, the horses in their stables seemed to have taken to him more easily than the other boys. Perhaps it was his gentle nature. He liked animals, they were infinitely more kind than people.

A few days later Bard was called before Oropher late one evening, he had to remind him of his name, though it was not unkindness that made him forget, he just fostered a great many boys and had little contact with them.

“Yes Bard I remember now. Have you settled well?” Oropher asked, seated up in his throne, Bard was unsure if he was supposed to rise from kneeling so he did not.

“Yes thank you. You are most generous.”

“Do rise Bard you need not remain kneeling the whole time.” Oropher instructed and Bard did as he was told and rose to his feet where he waited awkwardly for Oropher to either dismiss him or say more. “I have to admit I did not call you here merely to check how you were settled.”

Bard once again was not sure what or even if he was supposed to speak. He resisted the urge to shuffle his feet, that had always angered his father.

“You will not be joining the other boys tomorrow.” Oropher stated without explanation, Bard’s reflex was to believe that he had done something wrong.

“Did I do something?” Bard asked, his voice was more worried than he meant for it to be, more honest, he liked it here, he did not want Oropher to hate him, he did not want Thranduil to hate him.

“Indeed you did.” Oropher said and Bard flinched despite his amused tone. “You piqued the interest of my son.” Oropher continued and Bard became confused.

“I don’t understand.” Bard said, and Oropher looked as though he did not either, and like he too would like to find out what it was his son had seen.

“Thranduil has requested you are let out of your routine tomorrow so that you might spend the day with him.” Oropher explained, though Bard remained confused, he hated feeling so, his father’s words about him being simple haunting him whenever he struggled to grasp something.

“What do you mean?”

“Just that you will accompany my son for the day. I believe he has a lyre lesson in the morning that he was particularly adamant that you should go to with him. So unless you have an objection you will go to the prince’s room after breakfast and find him there, Thranduil asked me to tell you you only had to come if you wished to. Nothing will happen to you if you would rather stay with your usual day.” Oropher said and Bard jumped in, even though he knew he should not interrupt a king.

“No! I, sorry, I mean I was very much like to spend the day with him.” Bard answered, his face flaming with heat in his embarrassment, but Oropher’s face was only soft, it seemed this was the reaction he had expected.

Bard wondered why anyone in the entire world would ever reject the chance to spend the day with the prince, it was an impossibility to him, something he could not even fathom coming to pass.

“Excellent. You are dismissed.” Oropher waved him away with a gentle flick of his hand, so different from the unkind shoves his own father used to send him away with.

“Thank you my lord.” Bard answered, bowing again before leaving.

He was filled with a nervous, jittery energy for the rest of the evening and through the night. Excited but plagued by his usual ability to ruin things somehow, to disappoint somehow. He did not want to disappoint Thranduil.

Bard’s thoughts agonised over why it was Thranduil had decided that Bard of all people was the one he wished to spend his day with. Bard knew it was not something that had happened before because if it was the boy would still be boasting of it. Bard would not boast of it, he would not want to share it, he would want it to belong only to him.

The next morning Bard thought he should be tired from his lack of sleep, but a lack of sleep also meant a lack of nightmares and he felt nervous but excited as he headed away from breakfast in the opposite direction to the other boys. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always your comments and kudos mean the world <3 thank you for reading


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised I had not abandoned it and I meant it :') sorry for the wait, it will not happen again <3

 

 

Bard was jittery with anticipation, something he did not think he had ever felt before, not for a good kind of anticipation anyway. He headed towards Thranduil’s rooms and was suddenly overcome with nerves. It didn’t matter how many times he told himself it was silly, that he had already spent time with Thranduil before, it just felt like some kind of great honour. And indeed it was, to be singled out this way by a demigod was no small thing.

Bard imagined what the other boys would think if they knew. He found he did not want them to know, he didn’t want to share this in any way. It had been a long time since he had had anything truly of his own, and those he had had in the past he could count on one small hand.

But this was his. _He_ had been summoned by Thranduil, it was _him_ that Thranduil had decided worthy of spending time with, no one else, this was his. Bard had no idea if it would just be for the day or longer, he daren’t wish for longer, though he knew deep down that was what he had hoped. Still, even if it was only for the day, that would not sully it for Bard, it would not make it less special.

He would finally have the memory of a whole day that stood out from the rest, perhaps today he would not feel like he was merely existing. Thranduil made him come alive, he knew it would be special. So it wasn’t really a surprise that he was nervous. Bard plucked up his courage, unwilling to waste any more moments of this day standing on the wrong side of the door, and knocked.

“Enter.” Thranduil called, Bard opened the door, scared Thranduil would notice how sweaty his palms were, even though there was no reason he would see. Thranduil was sorting through one of his trunks, though what he was looking for Bard could not say, he had so many things after all. Eventually Thranduil found it, a lyre, though not the one Bard had seen him play before, this one looked older. The prince turned triumphantly and smiled a bright smile when he saw Bard stood there, Bard didn’t think he had ever been the cause of someone else’s’ smiles before. Except maybe his mother, but it was always hard to tell what it was she was smiling at. “Bard, you came. Good, I am glad.” Thranduil said, as if there had been any chance at all that Bard would not have come.

“Everyone would want to spend the day with you given the chance.” Bard replied, not understanding how Thranduil could have doubted for a moment he would come.

“Well I did not invite everyone. I invited you, and I am glad you accepted.” Thranduil nodded, like he had come to a very important conclusion. “Have you had breakfast?”

“…no.” Bard said, suddenly worried that he was supposed to have done so before he came, worried that he had already misstepped somehow. An apology was ready to spill over his lips when Thranduil continued. 

“Good. I told the servants to bring enough for us both this morning.” Thranduil finished, it made Bard smile, that he had no already done wrong, it made him resent his father for making him automatically assume that he had.

Thranduil then turned a considering eye upon him, studying Bard’s form, he wondered if there was a certain was he was supposed to stand, he could not have dressed differently, these were the only clothes he owned

“Though perhaps two breakfasts would not have been a bad thing. You are still awfully skinny.”

“I’ve always been small.” Bard shrugged, he then worried if you were allowed to shrug to a prince.

“You’ve always been underfed.” Thranduil grumbled, Bard didn’t know how to respond to that so he did not, thankfully Thranduil was already moving on, settling down on his chaise lounge and mentioning for Bard to sit on another. Bard had never known how to sit on these things, even at the age of ten Thranduil had mastered that as well. Bard sat a little awkwardly, but Thranduil smiled at him, and he thought that not knowing how to sit on a funny bed-chair really wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

They ate their breakfast together, different from what Bard was used to with the other boys, it was rich with fruits. Thranduil tossed him one of the fruits with a smirk, Bard realised it was a fig and grinned back.

After that Thranduil took the lyre he had searched for and Bard with him. When they entered the room Bard saw the lyre Thranduil usually used waiting for him in his chair, it still took until Thranduil held out the extra lyre towards him for Bard to understand why it was there.

“I do not know how to play.” Bard said, worried about looking foolish. He remembered his first day at king Oropher’s palace, how Thranduil had asked him if he played and if he would like to. It would seem he had remembered the answer.

“Which is why we are learning.” Thranduil pointed out, voice smiling, like he was trying to put Bard at ease, to let him enjoy something without fear of failure for once.

“You are already perfect.” Bard said, though he had only heard Thranduil play twice, and he did not really know what perfect playing looked like. Everything Thranduil did had always seemed perfect to him, beautiful in some way normal people could not attain with ten times the effort. His compliment made Thranduil smile a soft smile. It was take Bard a few years to realise that it was truly a smile Thranduil only ever saved for him.

“Well then, Lindir here may focus on your instruction then can’t he.” Thranduil responded, tugging Bard to sit down beside him.

“It will be nice to have a student who is not already better than me.” Lindir said remarkably blandly, as if he knew token compliments had to be paid to princes, let alone demigods, either way Thranduil preened at the praise.

As the played through the morning Bard discovered that he had no natural talent for music, but neither was he as awful as his father had always told him. Encouragement and patience doing wonders for his ability to learn.

They took lunch together after the lesson before Thranduil headed outside, Bard following behind him. At first he thought Thranduil was looking for something, for he kept pausing in his step, eventually he realised Thranduil wished Bard to walk beside him instead of a pace behind him as was proper. Bard’s cheeks heated as he understood and Thranduil smiled as Bard got used to falling in step at his side.

Thranduil had always trained apart from the rest of the boys. Bard discovered that he also trained apart from any instructor. When Bard asked him why, Thranduil had shrugged at responded that all the sword and fighting masters his father had summoned for him had had nothing to teach him, for he was the best they had seen already. Bard watched in awe for himself as Thranduil fought against the thin air as if it were a hoard of enemies. And even if it were a hoard instead of air, Bard knew Thranduil would still emerge victorious.

Thranduil passed Bard a practice sword and asked him if he would like to practice. Bard nodded for he could never in his life refuse Thranduil, no matter how uncomfortable fighting made him. It only took a few minutes for Thranduil to recognise his discomfort and take the practise blade from him.

“I’m sorry.” Bard said. “I know I should be able to do it.” Theirs was a world of war and glory after all, there was nothing he should want for more, yet there was nothing he desired less. The part that most scared Bard was that he knew he could do it, he had been far behind the skill of the other boys, but within the first few weeks of drills here he had known he had a skill for it like his father had not imagined. He didn’t want to learn, he did not want to get good at killing things.

“It is okay.” Thranduil said, though he had a look of concern on his face briefly before it turned into the hard resolve of a demigod. He squeezed Bard’s hand. “I will protect you, so you don’t have to.”

 

***

***

 

“Why did you ask me to spend the day with you today?” Bard asked, the question had been bubbling to the surface all day, he finally had the courage to voice it.

“I like you.” Thranduil shrugged, as if it was nothing, as if anyone had ever _liked_ Bard before in his entire life, Bard knew he was staring in awe a little but he couldn’t help it. “And you don’t like morning drills or the other boys, I thought we both might benefit.”

“I like you too.” Bard blurted, as if it wasn’t obvious, as if everyone in this palace didn’t like Thranduil. “Sorry. I know that’s obvious. Everyone does.” Bard apologised for his own compliment, Thranduil looked bewildered.

“You’re different to the others. I like you much more than them.” And because it was Thranduil that said it, Bard could almost believe it, he hoped that once day he would be able to really believe it. Once again Bard wasn’t sure how to respond, so he said nothing, though he could feel a slight heat in his cheeks. After a stretch of quiet between them Thranduil started to elaborate. “It’s things like this, you sit so quietly when every other boy here clamours for my attention. Even when you have my attention you sit here quietly rather than trying to impress me.”

“I’m not very impressive.” Bard mumbled, he probably shouldn’t mumble to a prince, let alone a demigod. Thranduil frowned.

“What did you do to end up here?” Thranduil asked, it was slightly softer than his other questions, less demanding, Bard knew he would not be forced to answer, but even at the age of ten he could have refused Thranduil nothing.

“I killed a boy.” Bard whispered, knowing Thranduil would send him away now. Thranduil looked confused more than anything, like he was calculating difficult arithmetic in his head. Bard waited for him to finish thinking and to be sent away. But that was not what happened.

“That is why you do not like fighting.” Thranduil said, in that way he does sometimes when it seems more to himself than anyone else, when he is just figuring something out for himself. He continued more purposely, “it was an accident.” It wasn’t a question, Bard responded anyway.

“Doesn’t matter. He’s dead and it’s my fault.” Bard said, he didn’t want Thranduil to forgive him for it, he couldn’t forgive himself for it.

“Tell me what happened.” Thranduil asked, Bard knew that even if he had the power, he would not be allowed to decline this time, Thranduil had that look about him again, like there was a problem in from of him that he must solve to be able to move forwards at all, like so many heroes before him had.

“He was a noble’s son, he knew he could get away with treating me badly, my father never cared enough to stop it. I was playing with these two die, hiding from the palace until supper,” _coward_ “no one would miss me. But the boy, he stumbled across me. Usually I just let him push me around until he got bored,” _coward_ “he was a lot bigger than me. But he wanted those die and they were the only thing my mother had ever given me, the only thing that was mine in the world. I knew if I let him take them he wouldn’t give them back. He called me things and when that didn’t work he grabbed me and I was scared,” _coward_ “I never fought back and he only seemed to find it funnier ‘cause I was trying this time. But I panicked when he grabbed me and when I pushed him he wasn’t ready for it and he tripped backwards and hit his head on a rock.” Bard rushed to finish, his voice wobbling and his stomach churning as he felt sick in his throat, the image of the boy dying in front of him, because of him coming crashing back down over him again.

“It was an accident.” Thranduil said softly. “You didn’t mean to and frankly it sounds as though he had it coming.”

“He didn’t deserve to die.” And he hadn’t, horrible as he had been, accident or no Bard had taken a life. “Not for some stupid dice.” Bard sniffled and wiped his eyes with his sleeve, embarrassed to be crying in front of Thranduil but happy at least that he was managing to hold most of his tears back. He wondered if there was somewhere in the palace he could go and cry without being noticed. Thranduil did not comment on it, Bard was relieved.

“What happened to the dice?” Thranduil asked, it wasn’t the question Bard expected and he was caught off-guard by it and couldn’t help that he started crying instead of just sniffling.

“M-my father threw them into the ocean.” Bard was crying openly now, no matter how he tried to suppress it, burning up with embarrassment as he cried in front of Thranduil and about a pair of worthless lost dice of all things. He did not want to know what Thranduil thought of him in that moment.

Bard hid his face in shame as he hiccoughed his way through tears, making him startle and tense as he felt arms come around him as Thranduil pulled him closer and squeezed him tight. Bard only realised in that moment that no one had ever hugged him before, not that he could remember anyway.

They sat there together, Bard’s sobs turning back to sniffles and eventually reducing to nothing but a puffy face, he doubted Thranduil’s face ever got puffed, even if he cried. Thranduil only let him go when he had quietened.

“I hate your father.” Thranduil stated, Bard had never voiced it before, but he supposed he did too.

Eventually they stood and started wandering slowly back towards the palace for supper, though when they reached the door Thranduil stopped, Bard looked to him, waiting to find out why.

“I have to go see my mother now.” Thranduil explained, and Bard remembered then that Thranduil was never present at evening meal on a Friday, he supposed that now he knew why. “She likes me to be alone.” Bard nodded in understanding. “I promise I will be back though, later.” Thranduil assured him, before turning and heading towards the sea.

Bard was curious about Thranduil’s mother, almost as much as he would later be terrified of her. But for now she was something intangible to him, a sea goddess, more powerful than Bard could imagine. He wondered what she looked like, she was said to be beautiful. Bard knew her son was more so, knew he was more beautiful than all the gods on Olympus, but he would never dare voice such a thing. They had many tales about the fates of those who offended the gods, and they were never nice stories. Bard had no intention of joining them.

Bard sat alone at supper as he always seemed to, though he did not mind. He had half expected the other boys to wonder where he had been, or to know that he had been with Thranduil. But of late Bard had often been absent from drills and no one had noticed then, just as no one had noticed now.

There was a rumour though, one of the louder, more boisterous boys came over to him at the end of the meal, apparently having heard it.

“So I hear a rumour today, that you spent the day with the prince.” For some reason it sounded like an accusation, Bard was torn between nodding and shrugging, eventually he nodded. The boy made a disbelieving sound, like a snort. “As if. We all know you’re just covering for the fact that you spend every day hiding from drills.” _Coward_. “Why would Thranduil want to spend time with _you_ of all people.” The boy sneered, though it was nothing compared to the sneers he had endured in the past, and the other boys murmured their agreement, all deciding that this rumour could not possibly have credence.

Bard made no response, for they were decided and even he wondered himself why Thranduil chose to spend the day with him, no matter how glad he was for the fact that apparently Thranduil had decided Bard was worth his time, even if it was only for a day. He guessed that tomorrow he would be expected to go back to drills, but today was a day he would treasure always.

They left Bard alone to finish his meal, and continuing to leave him be as they wiled away the time until bed. Well, the other boys played and chattered, while Bard wiled. It was okay though, he would have been useless in conversation at that moment, too busy thinking about his day, replaying it in his head over and over.

When they headed back to the dormitory however, they boys all stopped in their tracks. It took Bard a while to realise why as he was at the back, but eventually he saw Thranduil perched on his pallet, as if he was waiting for him, for Bard.

It was then that Bard realised that no matter how hard it was for him (and apparently all of the other boys) to believe, that _was_ what Thranduil was doing. Bard tried to keep his smile under control as he shouldered his way past the other boys. Thranduil rose when he saw Bard, coming towards him.

“Sorry, I was gone longer than I thought. There was much mother wanted to discuss.” Thranduil said as if he needed to apologise to Bard for this, as if he would ever need to apologise to Bard for anything. The other boys looked on in astonishment, though Bard did not notice them anymore.

“You don’t have to apologise.” Bard said.

“No, but it is polite, or so I am told anyway. I’m not sure if I’ve ever bothered with it before.” Thranduil seem to genuinely be thinking about whether he ever had done so before, it made Bard laugh, which in turn broke Thranduil out of his thought with a smile, as if he was happy to have made Bard laugh, to be the one to do that. Bard would always feel an inexorable pride whenever he was the cause of Thranduil’s smiles and laughter. Despite his upbringing, he ended up feeling proud very often in his life. “Either way I promised I would be back later, and I never break my promises.”

That made Bard smile, and for some reason it also made his cheeks heat a little.

“It would be a very ungallant thing to do, especially for a prince.” Bard said, his tone mock serious and he lit up inside as Thranduil laughed.

“Sleep well Bard.” Thranduil bid him, and Bard knew he wouldn’t, constantly plagued by nightmares, but he knew that he might sleep better than he had in a long while at least.

“You as well, my prince.” Bard answered and Thranduil wrinkled his nose minutely at the title, but that was a battle Thranduil saved for another day, and it did not take long for Bard to learn to call him Thranduil and never worry about titles.

“And Bard.” Thranduil called after him, as they headed in different directions, Thranduil for the door and Bard for his bed, Bard turned to see him. “This isn’t just for today. I want you to spend every day with me.”

Bard’s face hurt from his smile and he nodded a little frantically in response. Thranduil turned and left the hall with a little smile of his own and Bard noticed that all the boys were looking at him now. He didn’t like the attention from them, it felt uncomfortable and oppressive, where attention from Thranduil felt only liberating.

The other boys took an interest in Bard for the first time ever that evening. They bombarded him with questions, a combination of hankering for any details of their idol that they could scour, and scathing questions wondering about why Thranduil picked Bard of all people to spend time with.

Bard didn’t really answer any of them beyond shrugs and evasion. It wasn’t born of any feeling of superiority – any feelings of that sort had been well and truly purged from Bard by his father long ago – Bard just didn’t want to share.

It was silly, but he felt like he had something of his own now, something special.

He made it through the throng of boys and back to his pallet on the end of a row when it became clear they weren’t really going to get anything from him. What he saw there stopped him in his track. Two dice sat on his pillow, identical to the ones his mother had given him and his father had tossed into the ocean.

At first Bard thought Thranduil had had them made, somehow made them identical even though he had never seen them, such things seemed possible for Thranduil in Bard’s mind. But then he noticed the fading and the wear that he did not remember, as if they had spent a few months in the ocean.

Then Bard remembered where Thranduil had been this evening and gasped, snatching them up and cradling them to him, as if they would vanish if he let them out of his sight for a moment.

The next day with his permission Thranduil fashioned the dice into a necklace ad hung them around Bard’s neck so he need never lose them again.

Bard was unsure if he had gotten something old back, or gained something new. A bit of both, perhaps. Either way he treasured them above all else, except Thranduil.

Even at ten he treasured nothing above Thranduil.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're still enjoying it! The Bard we know and love should start to emerge from his poor little shell now (bring on the sass and snark) and there will start being time jumps in the chapters, though I will always give a heads up in the notes at the beginning of the chapter. <3
> 
> Thank you for reading and sorry again for the epic wait <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Info for the chapter including a brief warning: 
> 
> Hetairai were Greek women with a special status, they often get simplified into some kind of high class escort, but they were arguably the greek women with most freedom. They were companionship for wealthy men, usually educated, and their job was to advise, entertain and arrange social events as well as to provide sex for whomever was purchasing their services. They were really influential in ancient Greece.
> 
> This is relevant to the chapter because Oropher hires a cohort of them, and it is alluded to that some of them sleep with some of the boys, whom are 13/14 at the time (not Bard and/or Thranduil).
> 
> I’m sure I don’t need to say that I don’t condone sex between anyone that underage with anyone really, but ancient Greece was a very different culture :’)
> 
> Anyway, felt I needed to warn, stay safe <3

 

 

 

 

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months and finally into years, and every single day, Bard spent with Thranduil. Bard never learned to take it for granted, but he did learn to allow himself to expect to be happy on any given day, to expect to be treated well and dare he say it, expect to be loved. Because he was loved, wasn’t he?

Bard was fairly sure this was what it was meant to feel like, a warmth in his chest that spread each time he saw Thranduil, the smile that bloomed on his best friend’s face when they played together, the near-hysterical laughing they shared together at things that truly were not that hilarious, but made all the brighter and funnier for experiencing it together.

Even king Oropher seemed fond of him, far fonder than his own father ever had, not that that was a particularly high standard to judge by. Even so, since becoming close with his son, Oropher always asked him how he was, if he was comfortable, if there was anything he wanted or wished to be taught. Oropher and Thranduil both had looked genuinely delighted when almost a year after Oropher had started asking, Bard finally timidly requested something. Bard was unsure if they were happy he wanted to start learning the basics of healing, or if they were just happy Bard finally felt comfortable enough to ask for anything beyond a glass of water.

Bard had long since ceased sleeping in the hall with all the other boys, just a few weeks after that first day spent with Thranduil, the prince had suggested he share his room instead, as they spent their days together and Bard disliked being surrounded by so many people, even if they did treat him better now with the very start of respect. Bard had not wanted to say no, just as he had not wanted to say yes. Bard told him he didn’t think it was a good idea, but Thranduil insisted as he was wont to do and Bard had of course relented.

Bard hadn’t slept that first night in Thranduil’s chamber, too scared of waking Thranduil with one of his nightmares, still believing that Thranduil would eventually cast him out. But the second night exhaustion had caught Bard and he had fallen into a fitful sleep. It was still dark outside when he had woken, panting and out of breath and near-panic. The other boys had always slept through Bard’s disturbed sleep, but Thranduil, unused to having anyone other than himself in the room was a light sleeper, and woke with him.

“This is why you did not want to share my room?” Thranduil asked, with that expression he got when he was working something out for himself.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you. I’ll go back to the hall – ”

“What? Why?” Thranduil had asked, his confusion only adding to Bard’s own, who had thought it was obvious.

“Because I woke you up, I always have the nightmares I don’t want to wake you up all the time. I should go.”

“Nonsense.” Thranduil dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “We shall have to help you sleep better, that is all.” Things to Thranduil always seemed so simple after all.

The next night was worse, Bard could barely hear over the thunder of his blood pounding in his ears, unable to catch his breath. Thranduil had panicked himself when he realised Bard could not catch his breath and scrambled to climb in to Bard’s pallet. It was the first of only three occasions Bard would ever see the prince _scramble_ in worried haste, each time it was for him, for Bard. Thranduil had wrapped his arms around him and squeezed him tight and told him to breathe, and well, Bard had never been able to refuse Thranduil anything.

The next night Thranduil had instructed Bard to share his bed, saying simply; “I will keep the nightmares away.”

“How?” Bard had asked, Thranduil smiled at him, a challenge in his eyes, he had always loved a challenge.

“Do you not think I can do it?”

“I think you can do anything.”

And for the first time they had slept tangled together, and for the first night in a long time, Bard did not wake from nightmares. He mused in the mornings sometimes, whether it was because he was a demigod that Thranduil could keep the terrors at bay, or if it was just because he was Thranduil, and Bard was Bard.

It surprised Bard to learn that during the night Thranduil liked to be held, as if during the night, with only Bard, he allowed himself secluded moments of vulnerability. Bard was glad to be able to hold him, to let him curl up with his silver hair on Bard’s chest, to give something back to someone who had given him so much. Besides, he liked holding Thranduil, they both slept better that way.

King Oropher had not seemed to have minded, eventually having Bard’s old pallet removed from the chambers as it was merely taking up space without ever being used anymore. They were still young, Bard supposed, though even when they grew older, few dared to openly oppose anything Thranduil wanted, anything that was his, and Bard supposed, in a way, he fell into bot those categories at once.

Bard remembered as they grew up at the palace, transitioning from children to young men as they and all the other boys started reaching thirteen years. They still teased Bard for not liking warfare, preferring to learn medicine and healing, but it was different than before. A friendly kind of joking, the likes of which Bard had not experienced before. It had taken its time for sure, but eventually the other boys had accepted him, not only as Thranduil’s closest friend, but also as one of them.

One of the boys, Feren, had even said to him one day that he was glad they would have a healer with them when they inevitably went to battle behind Thranduil. It made Bard realise that he had a place, not only with Thranduil, but with them all. Even if he would always be a slight outsider and little odd to them, he began to realise with a strange clarity that they were his _friends_ , even if they did not start out that way, and that they would choose him above an outsider as any of them would.

It was a realisation that made Bard warm. Thranduil had already transformed his miserable existence into a life worth living, filled with laughter and love, if it weren’t for Thranduil, he probably never would have had the self-worth to consider having friends, let alone to have accepted the idea. He no longer felt alone.

The realisation that he had friends however, suddenly made him question what he and Thranduil were. For he felt so much more for him than any other, though they were all friends to varying degrees. Bard was too young to understand the difference, he decided that was what having a best friend felt like.

As they approached thirteen, the cusp of manhood in their world, many of the boys made clumsy and often successful attempts to seduce the serving girls and visiting dancers. Oropher even once treated them all with a cohort of hetairai, after they had all performed so well at a show of arms. Bard remembered parts of their visit with impeccable clarity, while other aspects faded away.

He could remember the strange feeling of trepidation that curled in his stomach, though it was not when looking at one of the courtesans, but at Thranduil. He could remember the intricate braid Thranduil had his long silver hair plaited into, and the expensive purple tunic he wore, the design on its clasps and a pattern of straps on his sandals. Yet he could not recall the face of a single beautiful hetaira – for they were always beautiful, just as they were always clever and well spoken. He couldn’t remember their names or their laughs or which one of the Myrmidons – for they had won that name already – had the luck of being personally entertained by which hetaira.

He could remember the actions rather than the face of the hetaira who approached Thranduil, noting at the time that she was the most beautiful of them, yet paled in comparison to their prince. Bard remembered how she curtseyed and laughed and touched Thranduil’s arm daintily. He remembered feeling as if he was burning from the inside out, as though he might be sick but not knowing why, he remembered feeling helplessly mired to the place he was standing, caught in an infinity of a moment before Thranduil reacted.

He could remember being awash with relief as Thranduil politely removed her hand and stepped away from her, the way his heart swelled as Thranduil came back to his side and the wholly new kind of burning he felt when Thranduil took his hand and they retreated from the revelry in the main hall, choosing the quiet togetherness of their chambers where Thranduil had played songs for him on his lyre until they had fallen asleep.

Bard also remembered not knowing what name to put to the things he had felt that evening, balancing on the edge of realising something that had likely always been true.

“Bard.” Thranduil had whispered in the middle of the night, it had awoken Bard, though he never minded when it was Thranduil waking him to speak.

“Hmm?” He responded, blinking away his sleep as best he could, they were lying facing each other, Thranduil watching him intently in a way that had never unnerved Bard.

“Can I try something?” He asked, Bard wrinkled his nose at the odd question.

“Of course.” Bard replied, puzzled and foggy from sleep.

He was not expecting Thranduil to close to small gap between them and place a chaste kiss to his lips. There was a sigh of contentment which could have come from either of them, or both, and the feeling of something important slipping into place.

“I knew it.” Thranduil said as he pulled away, both of them smiling shy little smiles, settling back down to sleep. In that moment, Bard knew a lot of things as well. He knew what he had felt earlier in the day, the worry that Thranduil would choose one of the courtesans over himself, the jealousy at the one who dared touch his arm, the love that he bore Thranduil that was not only in friendship.

So starved of love when he was young and inexperienced in affection that Bard had long failed to realise that theirs was not only a platonic love, a deep _philia_ , but it was also a long burning romantic love. Theirs was a language with many words for love, but Bard never found one sufficient for all the ways he loved Thranduil.

***

***

They had kissed often after that first night, almost ten months in the past now, smitten and content with shy kisses even while the other boys boasted and exaggerated their exploits with girls.

Approaching fourteen they had all grown since Bard had first arrived, bodies aching as limbs stretched out. Bard was tall, but Thranduil was taller still. With every passing month he grew more beautiful, more ethereal and impossible, and with every passing month Bard loved him more. Love him so sharply it was almost an ache even when Thranduil was right there beside him.

He knew that Thranduil felt the same, not through any subtle reading to body language or actions, but because Thranduil knew he would not believe it unless he said it, so Thranduil told him every day.

“My mother said I will have to go and study with Gandalf at some point.” Thranduil said one day, they were lying in the sand, basking in the sun, it was a particularly hot day. Bard’s fingers had been drawing patterns on Thranduil’s bare arm, they suddenly stilled.

“Oh?” He knew the nervousness was apparent in his voice, there would have been no sense in hiding it from Thranduil anyway, he could always read him so well.

Gandalf had trained a great many of their heroes, setting them on the paths to their destinies and helping them train to survive it. It was not such a surprise that Thranduil’s mother wanted him to go to her, but it had caught him off-guard, the prospect of losing Thranduil suddenly so very apparent to him.

“Don’t worry. I am sure it will not be any time soon. Besides, I would never go without you.” Thranduil assured him, Bard smiled his relief and rolled over to kiss him.

“Good.”

They lay outside for a long while, losing track of time as they talked and curled together as close as the heat would allow. Thranduil stripped of his shirt to cool down and Bard noticed for one of the first times the elegant muscles of his body, the slope of his waist, the beauty of his snowy skin and the invitation of the sweat that clung to it. Bard averted his eyes, throat gone suddenly dry.

His own body felt alien to him at the moment, limbs too long and gangly, frame to big, hands too clumsy; Thranduil was always elegant.

Eventually a shadow fell over them both as they started to doze on the ground, making them both open their eyes.

“It is past time for dinner.” Oropher told them with a raised eyebrow, Bard was surprised he had come looking for them himself, though he did dote on his son.

“Sorry father, we lost track of time.” Thranduil apologised, Bard and his father were the only people he ever apologised to.

“Evidently.”

Oropher waited as they got up, Bard stumbling a little, so unused to his new height and Thranduil laughed, pressing a kiss to his nose as Bard pouted. They walked in silence for a little way, both of them seeming to sense that Oropher had something his wished to say. They were Thranduil’s chambers, where their food apparently waited, before he spoke.

“Eventually you will be expected to grow out of this. You are already past the age where you would be expected to move on to girls.”

“No.” Thranduil said, Bard was shocked by his tone, he had never heard him so stubborn, so vehement with his own father. Bard supposed in many ways Thranduil outranked his own father, Oropher was a king, but Thranduil was a demigod after all.

“You know she expects you to marry, produce an heir. I would wish it too, though I would not force you.”

“You could not force me.” Thranduil’s voice was ice, Bard believed him. Oropher did not recoil, but he did seem to relent, he spoke next with a sad sigh, one given while looking at Bard. It made him nervous.

“No I could not. But she will not be defied Thranduil. You know this.”

“She cannot force me either.” Thranduil said, calmly, as if his words did not defy the will of a god, as if it was already an argument he had had a thousand times, and Bard did not know it then, but it was.

“If you love him as I believe you do, you would not put him in danger from her.” Oropher’s parting words left Bard scared, Bard knew by saying them Oropher had forced Thranduil to speak to Bard about what is happening, he would have anyway, he always answered when Bard asked, and he would have asked this time.

Thranduil sighed. “I didn’t want to tell you. I don’t want you to worry about it.”

“Tell me what?” Bard asked, trying to stop the panic instantly rising inside him, he was better than that now, he was stronger.

“Mother does not like your influence over me. She does not think you are worthy of being my friend.” Thranduil said tentatively, before rushing on at Bard’s look of fear. “I tell her she is wrong every time, but she threatens to remove you herself. But Bard she will not hurt you, she knows it would kill me and she loves me so she will not do anything. She is powerless in this, for I would not live without you, and above all, she wishes me to live.”

Bard felt nauseous. To have the dislike of a god was a fear only heroes were supposed to face, and while they usually had the hatred of one they would also have the love of another. The gods were vengeful creatures, they always had their way. To be disliked by a god was to have your way barred.

“Why does she not like me?” Bard asked with a thick gulp of air.

“She thinks you hold me back, she thinks you will be the death of me.”

“Has she seen it?” Bard asked, feeling numb from head to toe, prophecies were rarely resisted.

“I do not think so, she just does not like you and would say anything to keep me away from you. Besides, I do not care, for it would be a good death.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? I would rather die for you than some king or war I do not know and do not care for. Regardless of the glory it would bring me.” Thranduil told him firmly, Bard knew there was no changing his mind, even as a piece of dread settled in his soul right beside the intense love he bore. “What is it?” Thranduil asked, sensing there was something Bard wished to say but did not dare. “Tell me.”

“Please don’t leave me.” Bard whispered, it was so selfish to say, he said it anyway.

“Never.” Thranduil smiled, playfully shoving Bard down onto their comfy bed and curling up against his chest pressing occasional kisses to his neck and purring like a cat as Bard ran fingers through his silky hair.

Friday came and Thranduil went to go see his mother again, Bard now having a good idea as to why their meetings now stretched further and further into the evening and through to the night. Thranduil now told him not to wait up for him, and Bard used to wait anyway, but now he came back well into the night. Besides, Bard usually woke a little when Thranduil crawled in next to him, wrapping an arm around his waist and falling easily back to sleep.

 But this time, Bard did not wake in the night, he woke in the morning and the bed was still cold.

He shot out of the bed like lightning, searching the chamber for any sign that Thranduil had been back at all last night but finding none. Bard rushed out of the room immediately, not even bothering to change out of his rumpled sleepwear and into a tunic.

The first servant he came across startled at his manic appearance but told him that Oropher was in the royal hall conversing with his advisors when he asked. Bard ignored etiquette, fear for Thranduil overriding everything else that normally scared him, and he rushed into the royal hall. Oropher looked up from his conversation startled, Bard expected anger from him until he could explain that the prince was missing, instead Oropher’s whole countenance saddened.

“My king, I’m sorry I know I should not barge in but Thranduil is gone he never came back from meeting his mother last night.” Bard said in a rush, Oropher’s face saddened further.

“Bard, I am sorry. Thranduil’s mother decided it was time, and he has been taken to learn from Gandalf.”  

And just like that, Thranduil was gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you're still enjoying it <3


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

Bard sat and stared at his food, back in the main hall with the other boys for his meals, for sleeping, for daily drills. He was numb. It had been five days.

 He knew, on some level, that Thranduil would never have left him behind willingly, that something must have happened to force him to go without Bard, without so much as a goodbye for Bard. But old insecurities, old fears acutely honed from the neglect of his father whispered to him again, told him _of course_ Thranduil had gone without him, who would ever want Bard for a friend? That Thranduil had just finally gotten bored of him, as Bard always knew deep down that he should.

Bard tried to force those thoughts away, he knew they were not true, Thranduil had spent years already proving to him that they were not true. But Bard was tired and the thoughts were insidious. It had only been five days.

“Bard, you should eat something.” Feren sounded oddly distant despite being sat right beside him. In a way, Bard missed the times when they all left him on his own.

He wondered why they flocked to him now, why after news had reached them of Thranduil’s departure and they had seen Bard, dazed and crying and left behind that they had all fallen in around him. _Friends_ , Bard supposed, they supported one another when something bad happened. Bard didn’t have much practice with friends.

They had all told him the same thing, all still told him the same thing; that Thranduil would never have gone without him willingly, that he would be back for Bard, ‘just wait and see’, that their hero would return. And though fear of her bade them never to voice it, Bard knew, they _all_ knew, that it was Thranduil’s mother who had forced their separation.

Perhaps that was what made their claims that Thranduil would return for him seem so futile. After all, what was one to do in the face of a goddess? Surely even Thranduil could not deny her without consequences. It occurred to Bard more than once that Ulma may well have threatened Bard’s life in order to get Thranduil to leave without him, to leave without saying goodbye. He knew there were not many things that could have gotten him to leave like that, just as he knew Thranduil would do anything he could to protect him.

Bard didn’t answer Feren, he just pushed his bowl towards him and ignored the worried look Feren shot to all the boys around them.

“Bard you’ve not eaten properly in days, you’ve got to have it.” Feren told him, Bard barely heard him, eventually the other boys ate his breakfast for him, no point in it going to waste.

The morning he had found it Thranduil was gone, Oropher had spoken to him. He hadn’t even scolded him for bursting uninvited and unannounced into the royal hall. He had only asked if Bard wished to continue his music and medicine lessons. Bard had declined with a shake of his head, it felt hollow to do without Thranduil with him, he didn’t feel special anymore, he wasn’t, he should be treated like any other boy there.

He wondered if he would see Thranduil again. The other boys were certain, because they all knew that they were Thranduil’s troops, that when the time finally came for their hero to head into battle and claim his glory, they would be the army stood behind him. But Bard was not so sure for himself, he wondered if Ulma would ever let them be near each other again, wondered if when it was time for the Myrmidons to join Thranduil again, whether or not he would be kept behind, kept away from Thranduil. There was an irony there, almost, for Bard knew Thranduil would do anything to keep Bard safe, he would not want him to come to a war anyway.

Bard would never let Thranduil go alone, any more than Thranduil would ever let Bard go to war alone, but Bard was aware that he may never be given the choice, Ulma could easily keep him away. She was proving that now, how easily she could separate them, send Thranduil one way and keep Bard elsewhere. The gods were never easily denied.

Bard often wondered how Thranduil was, what he was doing. He did not know how far away Gandalf was, only that he lived high in the mountains. Bard hoped that it was not so high as to stop the trees, Thranduil loved the trees. He wondered if Thranduil was lonely, with no one but an old man for company, Bard was sure that they would be driving each other mad by now. He didn’t wonder if Thranduil thought of him too, he knew it did.

That part of him that had been so damaged by his father told him that Thranduil would forget him soon, that when he came back to take them to war, he wouldn’t even recognise Bard, and if he did, he would wonder what he had ever thought was so special about him. But pushed the thoughts away, he knew they were not true, but he was tired. It had been five days.

On the sixth morning without Thranduil Bard was summoned by king Oropher, Bard bowed deeply and trained his eyes on the floor. There was more concern in Oropher’s voice now than he had ever heard in his own father’s.

“Bard, the other boys tell me you are not eating.” Oropher said calmly, Bard was not sure whether to feel betrayed or touched that the other boys had gone to Oropher. He was finding it difficult to feel much of anything.

“I’ve not been hungry.” Bard replied quietly, he did not think he had been so quiet since his very first weeks here.

 “You must eat Bard.” Oropher told him, Bard wondered if it was true concern for Bard’s welfare, or some loyalty to his own son that made Oropher speak to him.

“Yes my lord.” Bard answered the way he should. Bard waited to be dismissed, there was a long silence between them, Bard didn’t look up, he didn’t see the very real worry in Oropher’s eyes as he studied the boy in front of him.

“Know that I would speak to her, on your behalf if I could. As it is, she hates me more than anyone else alive, I would likely only make things worse for you.”

“Things could not be worse, my lord.” Bard responded, more honestly than he had intended. Bard wondered if he were to find his way back to Thranduil somehow, whether Ulma would manage to hate him even more than she hated Oropher. He feared the answer was yes.

In his father’s court, when he was a prince, Bard had always been called a coward, always known himself to be a coward. But he knew in that moment that he would face the wrath of a goddess every day if it meant he could see Thranduil again. He would let other judge if that was brave or foolish of him.

Eventually Oropher dismissed him. Bard ate a few bites at dinner that evening, it was not enough to stay the worry of his friends.

He went to bed in his pallet at the end of the rows of other boys and did not sleep, lying numb and awake through the night, until day six became day seven.

 

***

***

 

They were practicing drills out in the early afternoon, as they always did, Bard going through the motions of swordplay, trying not to think about what was in his hands, trying not to think about what it was used for, trying not to think about how _good_ he was at it, just, trying not to think.

All the other boys were on edge. It was easy to see why. The skies were clear and winds were low but the sea crashed and roared in an unnatural storm not twenty paces from where they were practicing. They all knew what it meant, Ulma was angry, her fits of rage always concentrated against Oropher’s shores. According to the other boys, it had never been this bad before.

Bard wondered if she was finally going to snatch him from the safe ground and drown him in the water.

Her rage may have nothing to do with him or Thranduil, but that would not necessarily stop her from taking it out on him.

He couldn’t even find it in himself to be scared.

By mid-afternoon Oropher was ushering all of the boys back inside the palace, eyeing the increasingly turbulent seas warily. Bard wondered if he should throw himself into the sea as a sacrifice, it would no doubt placate her for now, at least in that he would be useful.

Apparently Bard had stood out facing the sea for too long, because there was a firm hand closing around his arm and pulling him into the safety of the palace. Oropher forced Bard to face him once the doors were safely sealed behind them, the other boys throwing glances over their shoulders to see what was happening as they walked down the corridor, soon thought they were out of sight.

“You must understand how dangerous it is for you of all people to stand so close to the seas on a day like this.” Oropher’s grip on his arm had not loosened, it occurred to Bard that Oropher had taken a greater risk still by stepping so close in order to pull him away. “I do not claim to know your mind Bard, but I know my son and if something were to happen to you it would destroy him.”

“But Thranduil is gone.” Bard said quietly.

“Yes. But he is not lost, and he would be Bard. If something were to happen to you he would be truly lost to us all.” Oropher took a breath and let go of Bard’s arm. “If you will not take care of yourself simply for yourself, then you must do it for him.”

“Yes my lord.”

“Get some rest Bard.”

Bard lay down in his pallet that evening holding onto the dice around his neck, they reminded him both of Thranduil and his mother now. Many of the boys were huddled together instead of sleeping, fearful of the thunderous sea outside, though they would never admit it. Bard imagined a clamouring sea would be the background noise for the rest of his life, making her displeasure for him known whenever she felt inclined.

He was already good at tuning it out.

There was a loud bang borne not of the sea, sounding as if it came from inside the palace, many of the boys shouted out in some mix of curiosity and fear.

“What was that!?” Another loud bang rung through the palace, sounding over the crashing of the sea.

Bard sat up in his pallet, blinking away the darkness and waiting for his eyes to adjust, some of the other boys were already lighting the torches to give them some visibility. Almost all of them looked already prepared for a fight, prepared to defend the palace and their surrogate family to the death even then.

There was a tense wait, all of them wishing they could hear more but Ulma’s rage was making it impossible to hear anything more outside the room.

Finally, the doors to their sleeping hall crashed open and some of the older boys were already yelling and charging forward at their assumed assailant, armed only with their bare hands and bravery, only to grind to a stunned halt.

Bard froze where he stood, it was Thranduil. There was an edge in his eyes, so ferociously determined, a look enemies on the battlefield would later learn to flee from without hesitation. His hair was straight and silky and yet in more of a mess than Bard had ever seen it, whipping around him as if he had run all the way from the mountain back to the palace. It then his him, and he understood Ulma’s rage; Thranduil _had_ run.

Thranduil’s eyes found him in the room and relief washed over his beautiful features; “ _Bard_.” it was enough to break Bard from his shocked stillness.

“Thranduil.” Bard yelled, not even embarrassed by the broken waver in his voice, the sound of close tears as he scrambled away from his pallet, Thranduil’s swift feet covering the distance between them even faster, and within moments they were falling back into each other’s embrace.

He was not sure which one of them had a tighter hold on the other, they both seemed determined never to let go of one another again. Bard had missed him so much it had crippled him, he let himself fall into Thranduil again, let him flood all of Bard’s senses as he convinced himself that this was not a dream, not a cruel trick of the gods, that Thranduil had really come back to him.

“Come with me.” Thranduil said, as if Bard would do anything else, breaking their embrace far too soon and pulling Bard forward by the hand he had taken, forcing Bard to jog to keep up, there was a steely set to Thranduil’s movements that had the shocked servants scurrying out of his way as he stormed through the palace.

They went first to the kitchen, Thranduil stuffing food into a satchel before carefully slinging it over Bard’s shoulder, making sure the strap was flat and the bag was not too heavy. He must have caught Bard’s worried and confused expression because Thranduil squeezed one of Bard’s hands, while his other came up to cradle Bard’s face as he pressed a kiss to his lips. Bard had missed his hands and his kisses. He had missed everything.

“It’s going to be okay Bard.” Thranduil told him, Bard believed him. He had missed his voice. “Do you believe me?” Bard nodded and Thranduil smiled and Bard felt a part of himself surge back to life, taking Thranduil’s offered hand and running beside him to wherever they were going next.

His old bedroom, Thranduil stuffed a blanket into a satchel and slung it over his own shoulder. It was the room where Thranduil’s weapons were kept, Thranduil grabbed his short sword, a spear, a shield, some daggers, two bows and two quivers of arrows. Gently he guided the quiver, a bow and one of the daggers onto Bard’s person.

“Just for hunting, just for food. Not people.” Thranduil promised, kissing Bard’s cheek and Bard nodded again.

Thranduil took Bard’s hand again and headed straight for the main doors at the entrance of the palace, walking quickly but no so fast that Bard could not keep up comfortably.

“Where are you going Thranduil?” A voice called to them both, it was the king, both of them turned to face him, Thranduil placing himself between Bard and anyone who would try to take him away, with that curtain of focussed resolve back on his face.

“You can’t stop us.” His voice was strong and sure, far too much so for a boy of just fourteen, but Thranduil had never been just a boy.

“That is neither what I asked or what I intended.” Oropher explained, there was a pause before Thranduil answered.

“Away. Inland, where she can’t get to us.” Thranduil answered, Bard had guessed as much, but he would follow wherever Thranduil went.

“Go back to the mountains Thranduil, go back to Gandalf.” Oropher’s words somewhere between a command and a suggestion; no mortal could command Thranduil.

“No.” Thranduil bit back, their hands clasped tightly together. “I will not leave him again. I would rather be forgotten by history, to never achieve glory or greatness than be away from Bard again.” Thranduil declared and Bard’s heart clenched in his chest.

Those things Thranduil described, the glory and memory, the greatness and semi-divine status, the kleos. It was the dream of every Greek, and fate had told that Thranduil would attain more than any man before him, more than any hero or demigod could ever dream. Yet here he stood, denouncing it all for Bard, throwing it all back in the face of the gods and the fates and all because he wanted Bard instead.

Bard was glad he was not required to speak, for he could not have found any words in that moment.

“Indeed. So take him with you.” Oropher reasoned calmly, Bard felt Thranduil falter slightly beside him in his anger.

“She would never allow it.”

“You have already proven that she has little choice but to allow it. Today you presented your mother with an ultimatum: that she either accept your love for Bard and allow him to accompany you, or she loses her son all together. You and I both know which she will chose, you are her pride and joy.”

“She’s hates him.” Thranduil whispered, like it was so unthinkable, so horrible to Thranduil for someone to think that of Bard that he could not raise his volume to speak it.

“Yes, and that is unlikely never to change. But today will have taught her that for you to lose Bard is for her to lose you. You may be surprised what an incentive that will be to her.” Oropher, always so clam and reasonable, always so logical.

“It is your choice.” Thranduil said after a moment of thought, turning to Bard and tucking a loose lock of unruly hair back behind his ear. “We can go inland and be free of her together, live quietly and happily. Or we can go to Gandalf, and he will teach us.”

Bard only took a moment to think, he would not take the future from Thranduil, he would not keep that all for himself, that was greedy and selfish and Bard was neither of those things. Besides, before, when Thranduil had spoken of them both going to Gandalf, he had been excited. Always speaking of the things he would learn about warfare and what Bard would learn about medicine and what they would both learn together. He spoke as if together with Gandalf’s instruction they would be able to conquer the world, though Bard knew, Thranduil already could.

“We should go to Gandalf.” Bard said, it made Thranduil beam a smile so bright it had his heart doing butterflies, flooded with love in the knowledge that Thranduil had wanted to take Bard and go back to Gandalf, but he would have followed Bard into obscurity if he had only asked.

“That settles it then.” Thranduil’s bright smile still taking over his face, Bard could not stop himself from kissing Thranduil on the nose, he had missed being able to do that.

They slept together that night, Bard holding Thranduil all the tighter for all of the nights they had been apart and both of them sleeping soundly, despite the clamouring of the sea. They set out in the morning, the king sending an entourage with them on the two-day journey – a journey that Thranduil had reportedly ran in a little over a single day.

They were crossing a little river when she appeared, all of the men gasping, stumbling over themselves to kneel to the floor, few of them daring to even set eyes upon her. She swirled up from the river in a crash of waves, waves that had no place in a river, transforming herself from the very waters itself and into a woman. She barely seemed to notice the men around them, setting her furious, storm-filled eyes on Bard.

Bard knew she was beautiful, all of the gods were, but mostly she was terrible, at least to him. Unnaturally tall she must have towered at over eight foot, looking more made from the water itself than from flesh and bone yet not for a moment appearing wet. Her skin was whiter then pearls and her hair was a silver mane running down past her waist, impossible to tell where her hair ended and the water began. She wore the river itself as if it were a chiton of the finest fabrics and it danced to her every movement.

Thranduil stood between them immediately, but she spoke before he could, Bard still trapped by her raging eyes, he dared not move.

“So _this_ is your choice?” She asked, words torn between seething anger and a sneer, whipping her eyes to train them on her son.

“Yes. If you make me chose between him and you, between him and _anything_ ; know now that the answer if him, it will always be him.” Thranduil responded, defiance in his every word.

The river swelled and thrashed in Ulma’s fury, barely contained by her current form as she grew larger still, the air itself thick with the scarcely controlled anger of a goddess, the men around them cowered further. She turned her gaze back to Bard and Bard was surprised he was not struck down where he stood. Bard forced himself to meet her eyes, to stay there, both of them caught in a deadlock, in a battle over Thranduil that would rage on for all of his days.

“ _You will be the death of him_.” She hissed through the air, as if the words were being pressed into his very mind, they chilled him right into his soul.

It was an accusation and Bard felt ice in his veins that did not dissipate even as she vanished in a cascade back into the water.

“Bard? Look at me.” Thranduil voice eventually reached him, pulling him out of the darkness of those words and back into the presence, his gaze shifting from the space once filled by Ulma and onto Thranduil instead. Thranduil smiled when Bard’s eye focused again. “There is no prophecy Bard. She’s just trying to scare you. She’s angry that she was not able to stop me from being with you.” Thranduil explained, Bard nodded dumbly, willing himself to believe it. “Nothing will ever stop me from being with you Bard.”

“Nor I you.” Bard whispered, causing the last of the worry on Thranduil’s face to disappear.

Bard knew it to be true, that neither time nor distance nor circumstance would ever be able to stop them from finding each other. He held on to that as he held on to Thranduil’s hand, banishing Umla’s words from his mind, though he knew what new terror would now haunt his sleep. Then again, the night terrors could never reach Bard when he was with Thranduil, the thought warmed him and made him smile.

The mountain appeared in the distance and as they got closer Bard could see the trees growing all the way up it. They would be happy here, he knew it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading <3 I hope you are still enjoying it!


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

The mountain climb was long and hard, but it was also beautiful. They followed a rolling stream that occasionally widened and deepened enough for them to slip into and wash away the sweat of the day. At first Bard had been hesitant to enter the water, but he would not be able to avoid it forever, and as Thranduil took his hand and coaxed him in, he had not minded, he felt safe.

The soldier’s that had been escorting them had turned back at the base of the mountain, they were not permitted to climb it, their exact location, and that of Gandalf, was to be kept a secret. But Thranduil picked his way up the mountain easily, the incline was gentle for now, but the path was not clear, not clear to Bard at least.

“How did you find your way here the first time?” Bard asked as he followed Thranduil’s unerring steps, the princes’ face darkened at the question.

“I did not. I do not remember the trip, only waking on the river bank close to Gandalf. She brought me here against my will. I would have returned to you sooner but I had to wait for the best opportunity to get away.” Thranduil finished sounding like he was apologising, Bard caught his hand and squeezed it tight.

“There is nothing to apologise for. You came back.”

“I will always come back for you Bard, no matter what happens or who tries to separate us.”

“I know.” Bard answered, and he believed it in his heart as well, over the years Thranduil had unravelled the damage done by Bard’s father as much as it ever could be, so that now it was not so hard for Bard to believe that someone loved him.

They stopped by the flowing stream again near midday, to have their noontime meal and cool off from the beating sun, sharing their food and kisses equally as their feet dangled in the water.

“Listen.” Thranduil murmured, and Bard closed his eyes to hear what the demigod was hearing, the sounds of joyful singing and light dancing and girlish laughter reached his ears and he opened his eyes to look at Thranduil. “Over there.” Thranduil whispered, and Bard followed the line of his arm to find where he was pointing across to the other side of the stream.

Bard gasped when he saw them, nymphs dancing and singing between the trees, so close to them yet in another world entirely. Forever young and beautiful, they seemed wrapped in the very woods itself for clothes. They were beautiful in a way nothing else was as they carried no troubles or cares with as they danced through the woods. They would never approach or speak with the nymphs, but whenever Bard thought of their time at the mountain, it was always accompanied by the sounds of their distant singing and easy freedom. 

They reached Gandalf as the sun went down, about two thirds of the way up the mountain the incline petered out into a plateaued clearing; there was a cave, though it looked strangely warm and inviting instead of damp and dark. The cave opened out to a fire pit, logs around it for sitting, the river rolled down a fifty paces to the left of the cave and the wildlife paid them little mind, avoiding the clearing but otherwise roaming close. Bard was struck by the realisation that you could survive here forever, if you wished for nothing more than a simple life.

They could live here together, safe and alone and free forever. Free of fate and destinies and expectations. Happy and alive.

Bard knew it could never be, knew that Thranduil was destined for greater things and he did want them. He may choose Bard over his kleos if an ultimatum ever came, but in truth Thranduil wanted both, and Bard would give both to him if he could. But still, when the darker moments of their life came to him, Bard had always found comfort in the fantasy, even if it would never be more, could never be.

When they came into the clearing Gandalf was sitting by the fire, three plates filled with dinner beside him. Bard had known Gandalf from stories he heard, he had known he was a centaur and could imagine the creature clearly, but seeing one for the first time was fascinating nonetheless. But Bard tried not to stare for it was rude to do so, though Gandalf was likely used to it.

Gandalf had the body of a great grey horse and wore a worn grey tunic over his human torso, his long beard and hair were a lighter grey. There was a lot of grey, Bard now understood why he had the moniker ‘Gandalf the Grey’. He looked old to Bard, but Gandalf had lived for many centuries before them and would likely live a great many after them as well.

Gandalf trained heroes, that was why Thranduil was here, Bard wondered what Gandalf would make of someone so normal as himself turning up on his mountain. But then, there were three plates set out, Gandalf had known he was coming.

“My mother has been here.” Thranduil said, a note of hostility in his voice as he eyed the plates.

“She has not.”

“I don’t believe you. How would you know we were coming back now, how would you know Bard was with me if she didn’t tell you?” Thranduil accused, Bard would later learn that Ulma had promised Thranduil she would not interfere with him here, this place was Thranduil’s, not hers to control. Even when they spoke, it was further down the mountain, Thranduil would not permit her here.

“Do you think the gods entrusted a fool with the training of their heroes? No. And a fool I would have to be to not know that you went back for Bard.” Gandalf answered, ire showing in his voice before turning to Bard in a more comforting voice, like they were old friends conspiring. “He spoke of little else but you the whole time he was here.”

“You trapped me here.” Thranduil pressed, harbouring resentment at who he saw as a complicit party in their separation.

“Dear boy if I _trapped_ you here you would not have escaped, let alone in a week. You are free to come and go as you please.”

“We almost did not come back, we almost ran off away from the sea.” Thranduil continued in his suspicion. “How did you know we were coming here.”       

“The fates are not easily denied.” Gandalf told them, and Bard understood, they were always going to come back to this place; the webs the fates wove would have led them here, no matter what paths they took to get there. “Now are you going to continue to question me, or would you like some dinner?”

Bard’s stomach chose that moment to gurgle loudly and he flushed with embarrassment, but it broke the tension Thranduil held as he laughed and smiled at Bard, nudging him forward to take a seat around the fire before passing him a plate.

Gandalf watched them closely as they ate, it made Bard shift uncomfortably, he still was uncomfortable with attention from anyone other than Thranduil, as if he could feel all of his old faults and flaws being drawn back out of him for the world to see.

“Thranduil tells me you wish to learn the arts of healing.” Gandalf final broke his studying silence.

“Yes, please.” Bard nodded, setting his now empty plate aside.

“What about fighting, Thranduil spoke not of you wishing to learn to fight.” Gandalf continued and Bard’s body went stiff, memories he still had trouble coping with resurfacing, blood soaking into the dry dirt, bulging eyes, his own hands. Thranduil’s arms were around him almost instantly, he always knew when Bard fell into the past.

“No.” Thranduil answered for Bard, Bard’s throat was closed.

“Most companions of hero’s want little else.” Gandalf observed, Bard could image the expression Thranduil was likely giving him for pressing a point that so clearly did not want to be pressed.

“I want to know how to help people who are hurt.” Bard found his voice, though it was a quiet thing. “I don’t ever want to pick up a sword.”

“You will follow Thranduil into battle when he goes. Stay at the tents and heal the soldiers that return you may do, but to go through a war without being able to defend yourself is a fool’s errand.”

“I will protect him.” Thranduil all but growled at Gandalf, but the centaur ignored him, eyes watching Bard, waiting for his response.

“I said I don’t ever want to pick up a sword, not that I wouldn’t, not that I can’t. I would do it. But not to protect myself.” It was true, he would put himself between Thranduil and any sword, any spear, even if it was wielded by Manwë himself.

A look passed over Gandalf’s old features, as if he knew resignedly that this was the answer he would get, but it was not the one he had hoped for anyway.

The fates are not easily denied.  

 

***

***

 

“How come Gandalf does not teach you to fight?” Bard asked as they dipped in the river, it was a hot day, as most of their days were. Only a few weeks had passed on the mountain but Bard had become curious when Gandalf had not been teaching Thranduil to fight every day, surely that was why they were here.

“When I was here alone, he had me show him my sword and spear and shield, he said there was nothing he could teach me, for I was already the best he had seen.” Thranduil explained, and it should have been unbelievable, impossible, nothing more than a boastful ego, yet Bard knew it was true.

Their world called him the Best of all the Greeks, he was the zenith of everything they aspired to, as fate had prophesied him to be so. He was the fastest, the strongest, the bravest, the best fighter, and he was so very _alive_. He was the best of all the Greeks, and everyone knew it.  

In their two years of peace on that mountain, neither of them picked up a weapon to do more than hunt for food. Thranduil’s training – _their_ training Thranduil insisted – consisted more of hearing tales and stories of heroes past than anything else, stories they knew told from a new perspective; the perspective of someone who knew them. Gandalf’s perspective.

They always ended sadly, with death or betrayal or tragedy beyond all hope. Gandalf told them the story of Maedhros and Fingon in a way they had never heard it before and it left Bard cold in his stomach. Maedhros’ trials, Fingon’s rescue when Maedhros felt all hope was lost; Fingon’s death, Maedhros’ despair. Thranduil had taken his hand and kissed his cheek as Bard sat silent and melancholy after that particular story.

“They’re not us.” Thranduil had whispered, trying to distract Bard with kisses.

“They all end the same.” Bard had replied, turning to Thranduil, not bothering to hide his fear, his worry, his slow burning panic.

“That’s why I’m so lucky I have you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I have something none of the rest of them have.”

“What’s that?”

“Something to live for.” Thranduil had smiled one of those blazing smiles he reserved for Bard alone. “Something beyond fame and glory. I will go to war and win my legacy, and do you know what I will do next Bard?”

“What?”

“I will go home with you, back to our palace, and we will live out our days until we are old and wrinkled, and when we die they will bury us together, and we will be with each other still. Mandos himself couldn’t separate me from you.”

Bard had believed it, it was another fantasy he liked to run too.

Gandalf was always trying to teach them something with the stories, they were their real training. The centaur was always cryptic, Bard always knew he was holding something back, he wanted them to work it out on their own. Bard was good at that, he had the tolerance for it, he was used to not understanding things at first and working through it, but still Bard did not always understand what Gandalf meant. His messages of patience and not acting rashly were clear. But there was a way he looked at Bard, as if there was some thread he was missing from Gandalf’s stories, something he should have realised by now.

It wasn’t until their own story unfolded that Bard understood what that was, even though Gandalf said it many times.

Thranduil sat with Bard and Gandalf through his lessons in healing, asking occasional questions and learning alongside Bard. Gandalf never brought up combat again, Bard was glad, he knew from his time with the other boys that he was a natural talent with a blade. If the fates ever called for it, it could protect those he loved, he would pick up a sword for Thranduil.

“Thranduil?” Bard called gently through the trees, the wind seemed to carry his voice up here, there was so little sounds other than the stream and the animals and the nymphs as they danced in the distance.

“This way Bard.” Thranduil’s gilded voice called to him through the trees, enticing Bard to follow it they had been on the mountain for over a year now, eighteen months of peace and happiness.

“Am I getting closer?” Bard asked, laughter lacing his words as it did so often in those days on the mountain.

“Yes my love.”

Bard followed the musical sounds of Thranduil’s words into a grove they had found early in their time there. It was a grassy bank on a gentle slope down to a particularly serene part of the stream, the area around them was so lush and green with life that it looked like it belonged in a different world from theirs.

“I must be close by now.” Bard called out again, a smile firmly on his lips.

“Very.” Was suddenly whispered into his ear, making Bard jump and turn around to give Thranduil a playful slap for it, only to be held facing away by an arm around his waist. “Close your eyes.” Thranduil told him and Bard obeyed.

Thranduil turned him with soft, elegant hands and placed something upon his head, Bard knew it was a wreath of olives, could feel the crown, could smell the olives, he smiled wider.

“Happy birthday my hero.” Thranduil told him, Bard was turning sixteen, Thranduil had a few months prior, Bard opened his eyes and kissed Thranduil breathless.

“I’m not the hero here.” Bard said kissing the dimples Thranduil got when he smiled.

“Perhaps not the way the world thinks of heroes. But you’re my hero Bard. You’re the best of them, the best of all the Greeks to me. Even we heroes need heroes. Will you be mine?”

“Yes. Forever.”

They kissed until Bard got tired from standing and settled in the grass instead, Thranduil making him sneeze by throwing grass at him and Bard vowing revenge even though Thranduil’s demigod nose was immune to sneezing because of the grass. 

“I love your hair.” Bard told him, he loved every part of him, even the parts that were stubborn and arrogant and proud.

“I need to wash it.” Thranduil mused, his head was in Bard’s lap and Bard was braiding the long strands.

“It seems fine to me.” Bard said, it was a lie, it was beautiful to him, but Thranduil knew that.

“You need to wash your hair too.” Thranduil commented so dryly that Bard laughed so hard he lost hold to the braid he was working on.

“Well, the stream is right there.” Bard pointed out, and Thranduil raised and eyebrow and tugged Bard down for a sloppy kiss, biting at Bard’s bottom lip before standing and slinking towards the water.

Bard blushed hot as Thranduil let his clothes slip away as he walked to the stream, sending shy but tempting looks over his shoulder as he did. It was the only thing Bard ever knew Thranduil to be shy about, they were sixteen and hadn’t moved past innocent touches and deep kisses. It was hard to say exactly why, the attraction was there Bard knew, as was the desire, the love, yet they stuck to kisses and shy smiles when something else was drawing close.

They slept curled together, and more than once each of them had woken up hard or on more embarrassing nights messy from having spilled in their sleep. They dreamt of each other, Bard knew that too.

Perhaps they had yet to take that step further was to deny themselves adulthood, and all the things they both knew and feared would come with it. Perhaps that was why they lingered on the precipice, stayed innocent in the final way they could.

Bard wanted though, he ached with the desire to reach out and touch Thranduil’s soft skin, he wanted to kiss him in places he had not yet touched and run his fingers over every inch of Thranduil. At sixteen the simple sight of Thranduil sliding out of his clothes and into a stream was enough to make his cock swell in his tunics and heat flush his cheek in a mixture of arousal and embarrassment. Bard couldn’t pinpoint when the way he thought about Thranduil’s body had changed, or when a desire to touch and be touched for more than simple comfort and mixed in with his already deep love for the hero.

“Are you going to join me? Or leave me here all alone?” Thranduil teased, pulling Bard from his thoughts.

He smiled back just as bashfully as Thranduil did and lost his clothes far less elegantly than Thranduil as he approached the stream. The water was cool but not cold and as they splashed and washed and held each other close, Bard could feel Thranduil’s hardness echoing his own, saw the deep blush on his cheeks whenever they touched accidentally and Bard realised with a clarity that Thranduil _wanted_ as he did and was just as innocent as Bard, as unskilled and unknowledgeable and innocent in these things as Bard; but Bard was used to feeling thus, Thranduil had never not known before, not known how to be the best without trying.    

Bard waited for Thranduil to lead them in most things, all things really, but he wondered if in this he might take the lead. They could learn each other together, in their own time, with no expectations or strictures. Bard’s very soul knew Thranduil’s, he trusted himself to be able to learn what Thranduil liked.

He trusted himself. Of all the things Thranduil had coaxed him to believe over the years, to do so in himself was the one he found hardest to believe. Yet here he was. He trusted himself.

He would use it to teach Thranduil that it was okay not to know, that they could work anything out together, and if Thranduil wished to be led in this, then Bard could do that for him.

But for now they kissed in the stream.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you're still enjoying it <3 the next chapter will be more mountain peace (and, um, likely other nice things :')) but after that the plot will really get moving again <3


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